The Dark I Know Well
by MBP
Summary: Seamus and Dean have their own issues as they try to come to terms with their experiences in the months following the Battle of Hogwarts. NO slash whatsoever.
1. Piece by piece

**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, never have and never will. **

The sun shined weakly through the windows of the Great Hall, and Dean and Seamus stared mutely at the food that had magically appeared before them. They were supposed to be hungry. They both knew this. But neither of them could seem to bring a fork to his mouth, preferring instead to push the eggs and sausage around and around their plates, watching the progress with no small amount of fascination.

"So!" Seamus tried to begin heartily, and Dean looked up quickly, forcing a smile. He had to encourage his best mate because he knew that there just was no alternative. Seamus's own face brightened, and he continued. "Can you believe this?" he asked Dean, gesturing around the hall. Dean couldn't help but notice that Seamus was careful not to gesture to the place where the bodies were being carried out and moved to another location. He looked around to where his friend _was _pointing, and then he looked back at him with the same careful smile.

"I know," he said, well aware that any cheer in his voice was clearly unnatural. He decided not to worry about it. He forced a forkful of egg down his throat and said, "Harry actually won. I wasn't sure for a while…"

He trailed off, but Seamus nodded quickly, eager to continue the conversation.

"I know what you mean," he said. "Remember when my mum didn't believe him that You-Know … that Voldemort was back? Hard to believe now…"

He shook his head in amazement, and Dean knew with a small genuine smile that it wasn't just for Harry's accomplishment but for his own as well. It was the first time Dean could ever remember hearing Seamus say the forbidden name.

"I remember that," Dean said quietly. "But none of that matters now, right? Those are just bad memories. Now… well, it's a new world. That's what – what they all keep saying, at least." He gestured to the rest of the room with his chin, and now Seamus looked around more carefully.

_A new world_, he thought, and couldn't keep his eyes from travelling to the one place he'd so far managed to avoid. A shiver coursed through him, and he shook himself, reaching up quickly to pretend he was merely brushing the hair out of his eyes. But Dean's eyes clicked with understanding, and, taking one last mouthful of sausage, he put down his fork and yawned.

"I think it's time for some sleep," he said. Seamus didn't even try to hide his relief, dropping his own utensils with a clatter and shoving back from the table without another word.

The walk through the castle resembled none other they had ever taken together. Walls were blasted apart; knights in armor were missing; portraits had been torn in two, and neither Dean nor Seamus was able to say a word. They'd just begun to walk even more quickly when Seamus's footsteps suddenly slowed as they approached the Gryffindor dormitories.

"We just have to do it," Dean said softly, but he wasn't looking at Seamus, and Seamus knew that they shared the same fear. But then he looked straight ahead, and his knees went weak with relief. There, miraculously, was the Fat Lady, intact and, apparently, waiting for them.

They reached the portrait together and stood there for a moment in silence before Seamus realized that if they were going to get inside, it was up to him to get them there – he was the one with the password, after all.

"Fight," he whispered, and as the portrait swung aside to admit them, he caught the surprise on Dean's face. Deliberately ignoring it, he climbed into the common room. He was headed for the stairs when he realized that Dean had stopped and was gazing around, his eyes wide. Seamus stopped too and waited. It was clear to Seamus, as he glanced at his best mate out of the corner of his eye, that this was a room Dean had thought he'd never see again. After more silence than Seamus could reasonably handle, he cleared his throat.

"Ready to go on up to our beds now, are you?" he asked, and he didn't wait for an answer, realizing once again that if they were to go to the seventh year dormitories, he would have to be the one to lead the way. Shaking off the sinking sensation that Dean no longer belonged here – that the Carrows and Snape had gotten their way at last – he moved to the staircase.

But the moment they entered the room, they stopped short. Dean's gasp was almost silent, but Seamus heard it, and he stepped closer to his friend as they came face to face with Ginny Weasley. She was curled in an armchair at the end of what was meant to be—and now obviously was – Harry's bed.

"Sor – sorry," Seamus whispered, but Ginny merely nodded wearily. Her eyes were dull, and suddenly, Dean remembered one of the bodies he'd tried not to see in the Great Hall.

"I'm sorry, too" he whispered, but this time, Ginny's eyes seemed to focus for a moment, and she looked at Dean, the anguish in her eyes suddenly clear. She nodded slowly, and he did, too, and then he turned and shoved Seamus from the room.

"She needs to be alone," he mumbled, and Seamus didn't ask how he knew. That much was clear. What wasn't quite so obvious was where they could go now.

They paused at the sixth year's dormitory, but voices inside kept them moving. The same happened at the fifth and fourth as well. As they approached the third, certain that they'd found a haven at last, the sounds of sobbing reached their ears, and Seamus paled and swallowed hard. Dean looked at him curiously, and he mouthed, "Weasley," walking even faster. Dean didn't bother to ask how he knew, simply matched his pace, grief settling like a pit in his stomach.

Finally, Seamus stopped. Dean looked up with a start as he realized that they were standing before the door of their first year dormitory.

"None of them would still be here," Seamus explained almost desperately, but Dean merely nodded and pushed the door open. As he entered the room, he almost felt as if a veil had lifted, as if they had walked into a simpler time.

He threw himself onto his old bed, pushing the hangings aside as he'd done so many years ago, and Seamus followed suit, albeit much more slowly. For a moment, the two friends merely sat on the edges of beds that were once theirs, and then Dean said, almost to himself, "I wonder – I wonder how Harry got in here or even knew where to go…"

When he looked up, Seamus was staring at him questioningly, so he tried to explain.

"I had no _idea _what the password was or where those seventh year dormitories were."

He shook his head in confusion, but then he looked up at Seamus, and his brow creased.

"Shay? Are you all right?"

But Seamus had his lips pressed tightly together even as he nodded quickly. Dean stared at him for a moment , and Seamus forced himself to take a deep breath before saying tightly, "You _should _have known these things."

Dean was even more confused now. "Yeah, but… I wasn't here. Of course I wouldn't know…"

But now he had to stop again. Seamus's breathing had changed, and he wasn't looking at Dean anymore. He was staring around the dormitory, and when he realized that Dean had stopped talking, he suddenly looked at him again. His voice was unnaturally strained when he said, "Do you remember the first time we actually talked to each other? It was in this room seven _years _ago. Harry and Ron were already mates, somehow, and there were also you, me, and Nev. But somehow, it was like I always knew we were supposed to be friends or something."

Seamus shook his head then, rubbing a hand furiously over his eyes. "I sound like a bloody girl, I know, but even back then, I knew you would always be my best mate. And this year – this year without you, it was like I was missing a part of myself or something, and I didn't even know why I was _here _half the time. I should have been with you. I should _never _have let you just go off on the run on your own. Best mates don't – they just don't _do _that, but I was too – too scared."

He swallowed hard but glared at Dean through glistening eyes as though daring him to agree. Dean stared at him in shock.

"Shay," he said slowly, "I would _never _have asked you to come with me. I wouldn't have been able to run, I don't think, if I knew you were in danger too because of _me_. One of the only things that kept me going was knowing that you were safe _here_…" He stopped and sighed. "Well, I _thought _you were safe here, but that was enough. I knew I'd get back here eventually, and we'd fight together. And we did. And we made it, Shay. We're here together now, right?"

But Seamus shook his head and stared at his feet. "I worried every day," he whispered, his voice shaking. "It was horrible not knowing if you were alive or …" He couldn't say the word. Not now when it had become too much of a reality in the past few hours. But Dean knew. Slowly, he pushed himself off his bed and crossed the room to sit beside his friend.

For a moment, they simply sat there, staring straight ahead, and then Seamus said, so quietly Dean almost missed it, "I'm sorry."

Dean shook his head. "There's nothing to be sorry for," he said firmly as he continued to watch the wall.

Seamus drew in a breath to argue, but it hitched in his throat, and suddenly, he was hunching forward and burying his face in his hands. He didn't know how long he was sitting there like that when Dean put a cautious arm across his shoulders. Seamus knew he could feel his trembling, but for some reason, he just didn't care. And after a few minutes, when he finally sat up and drew a hand across his eyes, Dean simply looked away, not saying a word about how much _more _of a bloody girl he was being right then.

"How'd you know that was a Weasley?" Dean suddenly asked. He patted Seamus on the shoulder as he removed his arm and flopped backward across the bed, letting out a huge yawn. Seamus shrugged as he, too, flopped backwards and slung his arm across his eyes.

"Dunno," he admitted, "but think about it. Who else would be in Gryffindor now, crying like – like that? You saw F – Fred…" he swallowed hard again. Fred Weasley… dead. It just didn't seem possible. Dean shook his own head in disbelief.

"You're right," he conceded, his voice low, but then he sighed. "It's hard to believe, isn't it? I never would have thought Fred or George would've let themselves get hurt…"

Seamus sighed, too. "I know," he said, "but I heard that Fred was joking around with Percy, and then this wall fell or something… he never saw it coming."

Dean shuddered. "He might've been one of the lucky ones then," he muttered darkly, but when Seamus looked up questioningly, he simply shook his head. "It's nothing," he said and was grateful that though he looked skeptical, Seamus let it go.

Seamus rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I should get into my own bed," he murmured drowsily. "I don't think I can keep my eyes open another minute…"

Dean smiled and pushed himself to his feet. "Don't worry about it," he said, shoving his friend's legs over so he was fully on the bed. "I'll move."

He pulled out his wand and drew the curtains. He'd just extinguished the lights when a strangled voice muttered, "No, don't…"

Startled, Dean quickly lit the room again and turned back to where his friend's eyes were suddenly wide open. Seamus's face was scarlet, and he quickly looked away as he mumbled, "It's just… the Carrows. They'd come in sometimes – at night – and …" He couldn't say anymore, and he was relieved when Dean didn't ask another question, simply walked over and asked, "Hangings open or closed?"

"Closed," Seamus whispered, and Dean obligingly shut them. Once he was enclosed, Seamus shoved his face into his pillow, his face still hot. Would there ever be any way to explain all of this to Dean? And Dean still hadn't told _him _anything about his year on the run. Seamus rolled over and tried to relax. He would. They had time.

Dean slipped into his own bed, pulling the curtains shut behind him. He was glad to be hidden by the hangings because he couldn't imagine how his face must look. He'd known, of course, that things had been bad at Hogwarts this past year, but he'd never quite imagined how Seamus might have been suffering. And now he wasn't sure he wanted to. But – at least Seamus hadn't asked him anything about his own year. He closed his eyes and tried to relax. He was safe now. He didn't have to talk about it – ever. He would just get over it. He had time.

_A/N: Well, I've started a new one at last! And it's mostly thanks to little0bird for help beyond measure. This will find a path that occasionally matches her story, First Day, but it will focus on Seamus and Dean. As far as a minor inconsistency, I do know that JKR implied that the boys were in their same dormitory every year, but for the sake of this story, I decided that they moved every year. Please read and review!_


	2. Putting it together

The seats were stiff and uncomfortable, and Seamus couldn't help but wish that the whole service would just be OVER already, never mind the fact that it hadn't even started yet. He shifted and accidentally shoved Dean, who glanced at him questioningly.

"Sorry," Seamus muttered. "It's these bloody narrow seats…"

Dean tried to smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "'S ok," he said quietly. For a moment, Seamus thought he might actually say more, but Dean refocused his attention on the empty podium before them, and Seamus tried not to sigh. He couldn't help but wonder when Dean would string together more than two words at a time, and he was starting to think it might never happen.

Suddenly, Dean turned to him. "Can I come stay with you for a bit?"

Seamus's mouth fell open, and he stared for a moment before managing, "Uh… sure?"

Dean nodded quickly. "Thanks. Your parents won't mind?"

Seamus shook his head slowly. "N – no, of course not. As long as you need…"

He couldn't miss the way Dean's shoulders slumped slightly with relief, and he let out a deep breath. Maybe _this _would be their chance to talk.

* * *

But they went back to the dormitory and packed Seamus's things in silence. Seamus thought this might've been because of what had happened at the memorial service, but one look at Dean's face convinced him not to ask. Dean had offered to help him pack since his own things were already stowed away, but that had been the only thing he'd said since he'd asked if he could come home with him. His lips were now set in a thin line, and his eyes were distant. And Seamus couldn't stop thinking of the memorial.

It had been a hard moment for him, too – Remus Lupin _had _also been his professor, after all – but somehow, Dean's reaction seemed entirely too over the top. He'd gone absolutely rigid, and then the shaking – even now, Seamus noticed, his friend's hands were trembling slightly. But just then Dean looked up and forced a smile.

"I think that's the last of it. Are you ready to go?" he asked. Seamus quickly shook himself out of his reverie and nodded.

"Sure. You remember what it looks like, right? We'll just apparate right into the backyard and then walk around to the front to surprise my mum and dad."

"Sounds like a plan," Dean agreed, and they each slung a pack over a shoulder and made their way into Hogsmeade.

As they turned on the spot, Seamus once again breathed a sigh of relief that they'd both passed their apparition tests. When they appeared moments later in his parents' yard, he looked around with a smile that faltered instantly. Dean noticed.

"Everything all right?" he asked, and Seamus forced himself to nod quickly.

"Yes, of course," he said hastily and turned on his heel. No, this wasn't something to mention. Maybe they'd just let the grass grow so long since he was away. That had to be it. Better just to pretend nothing was out of the ordinary – at least for now.

They reached the front door, and Seamus had just twisted the handle to no avail when he finally peered into a window. Dean turned to him in alarm when he realized that he was – shivering?

"Shay? You all right?" he asked, his alarm turning to outright panic when Seamus swayed against him.

"They're not – " he started, his voice hoarse. He shook his head and cleared his throat. "They're not _there,_" he rasped, gesturing to the window he'd just glanced in.

Dean turned and looked for himself, and he felt that all-too familiar sinking sensation when he realized that Seamus was right. His parents were very much _not _there. The windows were streaked with grime, and inside, he could just make out overturned chairs and a ripped sofa.

As they stood there, Seamus's shaking intensified, and Dean carefully took him by the elbow and silently led him around back to the yard where they'd first arrived.

"Have a seat, mate," Dean said quietly, gesturing toward the wooden bench against the fence. Seamus nodded and stumbled towards it, sinking down and dropping his head into his hands. Dean swallowed, his mouth dry.

"Listen," he said quietly. "Maybe they're away…"

He trailed off when Seamus picked up his head and glared at him.

"Away? Really? And they decided to tear up the furniture before they left? Come _on. _Maybe it's more than that. Maybe – maybe the Death Eaters were here. Maybe – maybe they came here in the middle of the night when my parents were sleeping and …"

He trailed off, his mouth still working. Dean wracked his brain for anything helpful before finally blurting, "Is there anything – did your parents tell you _anything _about where they might go if – if they thought they might be in danger?"

Seamus went very still, and then he stood up, staring off into the distance.

"Yes," he whispered. "Yes, you're right. Come on!"

He hurried to the back door and reached up and through the brick to the right. For a moment, he stood there, his arm halfway into the brick, and then he pulled his hand back out triumphantly.

"Got it!" he shouted, waving a note in the air. He ripped it open and read it quickly before turning to Dean and saying, "grab my arm."

Dean complied and moments later, they were standing in a different backyard. This time, they both noticed the lights shining through the windows in front of them.

Seamus didn't even say a word. He was practically running by the time he got to the front door, and he banged on it so violently that it took all of Dean's restraint not to grab his arm.

And then the door opened. Mrs. Finnigan stood before them, her mouth falling open at the sight that greeted her.

"Tom – Tom!" she called, never taking her eyes from Seamus's face. "You need to get out here…"

Her voice trailed off, and she stepped forward slowly, reaching out to push Seamus's hair back from his face.

"Shay?" she whispered. "Is it really you?"

He stared at her wide eyed and nodded. "It is, Mum," he said, his voice shaking. "It's me. I – I got your note. But the war – it's over. We're safe now. I'm – I'm home."

His mother nodded. "You are," she whispered. "You _are _home." She touched his face and then his shoulders, and suddenly, he was in her arms, his shoulders heaving with uncontrollable sobs.

"It's ok," she murmured, her voice breaking as she held him tightly. "You're safe now."

Moments later, her husband appeared in the entryway, and even as he nodded and smiled at Dean, his arms were encircling his wife and son.

"Welcome, Dean," he said huskily, and then he looked away as he smoothed Seamus's hair and smiled tremulously at his wife.

Dean had to look away. He was happy for Seamus. He really was. He just couldn't watch.

* * *

Hours later, Seamus slept peacefully. From his camp bed across the room, Dean shifted restlessly. No matter which way he turned, he couldn't seem to get comfortable. Every time he closed his eyes, the image of Seamus and parents rose before him.

Finally, he swung his feet over the side and stood up. Glancing at Seamus, he stepped carefully so as not to wake him as he left the room. For a moment, he stood in the hallway, unsure of which way to go, and then he settled on the living room. That was his safest bet at finding privacy at this time of night.

He breathed a sigh of relief when he entered the darkened room and whispered lumos as he flicked his wand toward the candlesticks on the table.

Once the room was lit, he padded to a desk in the corner and pulled a sheet of paper toward him. Taking a pen out of the drawer, he rested his head on his hand and sighed. He needed to do this, he knew, but it didn't make starting the thing any easier.

"Dear Mum." The pen scratched as it made its way across the page, but then he stopped. He had no idea what to say. He knew he wasn't going to go home, but he wasn't even sure she'd want him to. The last time he'd seen her hadn't _exactly _been pleasant…

_He was rummaging through the box in the attic, trying to find the thermals his mum had bought him the previous winter. They were the last things he wanted to think about wearing, but he knew he had to be realistic. If he were on the run, there was no telling where he might be once it started getting cold. He was having no luck finding the box with the winter clothes, though._

_He shoved the boxes aside to get to the one in the far corner. This was his last hope, and he sighed with disappointment when he opened the flap only to see more paperwork. No clothes here either… but. Dean's brow furrowed as he dug further into the box. Was that – no, that couldn't be a wedding photo... because that was his mum… but that wasn't his dad._

_But it was a wedding photo. And as he pulled it out of the box, a chill coursed down his spine. The longer he stared at it, the more he shook. This man in this picture… it didn't take a detective to see that Dean – well – that he looked just like him._

_Before he even realized what he was doing, he plunged headfirst down the stairs and almost smacked into his mother. Brandishing the photo in his hand, he rasped, "Dad – Mum – who is this?"_

_She stared at him, her mouth falling open, eyes widening. _

"_Dean, I –" _

"_Who?" he demanded. He looked down at the photo and then back up at her, shaking his head. "Mum … who _is _this?"_

_Now she shook her head. "No," she said dazedly. "It – it doesn't matter, Dean. You know who your father is. He's the man sitting downstairs with your sisters right now, helping them with the puzzle. This picture – it doesn't mean anything."_

_But the panic in her eyes only emphasized all the words she wasn't saying, and he backed away from her, his breath coming in quick gasps. _

"_Dad… Mum, _who is in this picture with you???"

_She shook her head even harder. "No, Dean. No. It – it doesn't matter. He disappeared. He went out one day and never came back. It doesn't matter…"_

_Now he was trembling so hard that he had to lean against the wall for support._

"_Katherine … and Charlotte… they're not – they're not my sisters?" _

_His mother gasped, and even though his mind was spinning, he didn't miss the way she seemed to suddenly grow six inches. And she was glaring at him._

"_Don't you _ever _say anything like that again. Of _course _they're your sisters. They adore you, and you adore them. You are my son, and they are my daughters. Of course they're your sisters." She took a deep breath, and when she spoke again, her voice was low. "Dean, your father is the man downstairs. In every way that matters, he always has been. Please … please don't let this change anything."_

_He stared at her. "But it does," he managed to get out. "It changes everything. I can't – I can't trust you anymore."_

_And before she could respond, he was in his room, the door closed tightly behind him. He didn't come out again for the rest of the night, refusing to answer the incessant knocking. He dashed off a quick note to his parents, although the word left a bad taste in his mouth, and he waited until everyone was asleep before leaving his room at last and putting the paper on the dining room table. He was about to leave when he realized there was one last place he needed to go. _

_Moving as quietly as he could manage, he made his way to the room his sisters shared, and, holding his breath, he eased the door open. They were both sound asleep, their hair strewn across their pillows, their mouths partially open, and he looked back and forth between the beds, wondering if this would be the last time he would ever see them. He wished he could wake them, that he could say a proper goodbye, but he didn't think he could make it through that and still manage to go. He let out a shaky breath before mouthing, "_Goodbye Charlotte, Katherine. I love you both."

_Pulling the door shut behind him, he leaned against the wall, closing his eyes against the tears that pricked behind his lids. He swallowed hard and shook his head. It was time to go..._

Dean stared at the paper and sighed. There was only one thing he needed to say.

"I am safe. The battle is over, and everything's all right now. I'm staying with friends for a while. I'll be in touch."

It was a far cry from the Finnigan reunion, he thought, his mouth twisting bitterly. But then … his so-called family was a far cry from theirs, too.

_A/N: Credit for the mystery behind Dean's parentage goes directly to little0bird. (Told you I would.) More to come soon! I'm loving having a new story to write._


	3. When the Sun Goes Down

It took Dean three days to work up the nerve to say something. He tried everything he could think of, hoping he wouldn't have to. But after the third night of trying to sleep with the pillow over his face to block out the light, he knew it wasn't working.

He couldn't approach Seamus, though. What would he say? _Sorry you've become so afraid of the dark, mate, but I need my beauty sleep? _Afteran hour of lying awake one morning, wrestling with what he should do, he slipped out of the room and went down the stairs, relieved to find just Mrs. Finnigan sitting at the table, eating breakfast.

She looked up and smiled, gesturing for him to sit across from her.

"Morning, Dean," she said softly, taking in his haggard appearance. "You don't look like you slept too well…"

He shook his head as a gigantic yawn escaped, and he flushed.

"Sorry," he mumbled, but she brushed it aside.

"You know, I was thinking," she said carefully, and something in her tone caused Dean to look up quickly. She smiled at him.

"Maybe you would be more comfortable in the guest room… you boys are getting old to still be sharing, don't you think?"

It took all of Dean's willpower not to sigh with relief. Instead, he merely nodded and tried to keep his own smile under control.

"I do," he said. "Thank you. I didn't … I wasn't sure…" He trailed off, biting his lip. There was really no need to say anything now, was there?

But he couldn't miss the flash of understanding in Mrs. Finnigan's eyes as she said casually, "Well, people have different habits. I just think it might be difficult for some people to sleep with the lights blazing at all hours…"

She trailed off, and Dean swallowed with an audible click even as he stared at the table. He didn't need to say anything. She knew.

They sat together for a few more minutes until Dean pushed back from the table, his chair scraping the floor.

"Thanks," he muttered, and Mrs. Finnigan merely nodded as he quickly left the room.

* * *

Seamus woke up when Dean was hastily stuffing his things into his knapsack.

"Where're you going?" he asked, rubbing his eyes blearily, and Dean looked up with a start. He tried to smile but realized instantly how forced it must look and quickly glanced back down at the bed.

"Oh," he said, trying to make his voice sound as casual as possible, "I just talked to your Mum when I went downstairs for some breakfast. She thinks it'd be better for us if we each had our own room. And since there's an empty guest room…" He trailed off and looked up at last.

Seamus wasn't looking at him, but Dean thought he could spot the slightest hint of relief in his posture as he lounged in his bed.

"That's probably a good idea," he said as he yawned, and Dean nodded. The two remained silent as Dean finished gathering his things, and then he looked up again. Seamus was watching him, and he knew that both of them knew why he was leaving.

He sighed, and Seamus frowned.

"You're really all right with this?" he asked.

Dean looked at his friend's concerned face and shrugged.

"It's a good idea," he said quietly. "I haven't – I haven't been sleeping that well these past few nights…"

He trailed off. Seamus's face was reddening, and he knew he couldn't say anymore.

He slung the knapsack over his shoulder.

"I'll be right back," he told him even as he automatically tightened the straps and adjusted it more firmly on his shoulders. "I just need to put this in the other room."

Once he was out in the hall, he leaned against the wall, his heart racing. He simply couldn't imagine what Hogwarts had been like this past year, and right now, he was pretty sure he didn't want to.

* * *

Dean had just finished settling himself into his new room when he heard a knock on the door. Looking up, he was relieved to see Seamus there, smiling at him.

"Up for it?" Seamus asked, tossing a ball in the air, and Dean nodded instantly, smiling back. Both boys glanced outside at the rain. Seamus shrugged. "Here," he said, dropping the ball and kicking it towards Dean. For a few minutes, they maneuvered it back and forth, and then Seamus kicked just a bit too hard and watched in horror as the ball went careening toward the lamp on Dean's nightstand.

It crashed to the floor, and for a moment, they stood there, staring at the pieces. It wasn't until they heard footsteps on the stairs that Dean grabbed his wand and muttered, "Reparo."

The lamp mended itself instantly, but that wasn't enough to erase the grim look on Mrs. Finnigan's face when she stuck her head into the room.

She took in the scene and shook her head.

"Out," she said, pointing to the door. Both boys looked at her quizzically. "It's time you left the house," she said, putting a hand on each of their shoulders and pushing them firmly toward the stairs.

"But Mum…" Seamus said slowly. "It's raining."

"You'll dry off," she said unsympathetically. "I have to protect my furniture."

She opened the door and watched them until they grudgingly walked outside. "See you both later," she said and the instant she closed the door, Seamus looked at Dean and shrugged, rolling his eyes.

"I guess we were getting annoying?"

Dean laughed. "Well… I can sort of see why. Come on. Let's just go out in back."

It didn't take long for them to get so thoroughly soaked through that they no longer minded the rain. But it did take approximately 20 minutes before Seamus finally broached the topic that was on both their minds.

"So, tomorrow…" he said as he kicked the ball directly to Dean. Dean stopped it and considered what to say next as he took careful aim.

"Yeah… it's going to be pretty hard for Ron, don't you think?"

He let the ball soar toward the hedges but was unsurprised when Seamus managed to leap high enough to knock it back down. Seamus sent it back as he nodded.

"It will…" he sighed. "Did you see him at the memorial before we left? Harry was bad enough off, but Ron… I'd never seen him like that before."

Dean swallowed, kicking the ball with all his might. "I know," he said softly. "That was – that was awful. But he probably won't even be the worst…"

He didn't need to say the name. Neither of them did. But after a few silent moments of kicking the ball back and forth, Seamus said, "I'm pretty sure … that had to be George in the third year dorm that night."

Dean nodded quickly. "I was thinking that, too," he confessed. He shuddered, which he quickly tried to cover by sending the ball soaring once again. This time, it lodged itself in the trees, and Seamus had to summon his wand from his bedroom window in order to get it back.

Once it had been returned to its rightful place on the ground, Seamus muttered, "Fred Weasley… man. I don't know what this'll be like tomorrow. I went to my granddad's funeral when I was small, but that was different. This… Fred was only a couple of years older than we were. How…"

Dean shook his head. "I haven't been to any funerals," he mumbled. "I don't really know what to expect at all…"

Seamus shook his hair out of his eyes. "They're usually very quiet," he started, but then he shook his head again. "You know what, mate, I don't know, actually. My granddad's was quiet, but he was _old_. There are going to be so many people at this one… and all those Weasleys…"

A shudder coursed through Dean, but when Seamus glanced at him worriedly, he shook his head.

"Cold," he muttered, but they both knew he was lying. Because as soon as Seamus had said "Weasleys," the first image to pop into Dean's head had been of Ginny's drawn face as she sat at the foot of Harry's four poster bed, waiting for him as he slept.

Seamus nodded. "Let's go in, then," he said brusquely. The game was clearly over.

* * *

By the time Dean got into his own bed that night, he sighed with relief in the darkness that surrounded him. This was how it was supposed to be at night, he couldn't help but think to himself, even as he felt guilty for even letting the thought cross his mind. He closed his eyes and tried to relax. He should have absolutely no problems sleeping now, he mused, and he was relaxing; his mind was wandering; his breathing was easing, when suddenly, he felt pinpricks on his arm, and he flailed wildly, his hand instantly closing on his wand.

"STUPEFY!" he bellowed, and he heard a loud thump across the room. He sat up slowly, his heart racing, body shaking, and he wasn't surprised when only moments later, the door swung open.

Seamus was standing there, wide eyed, and it didn't escape Dean's attention that he instantly flicked on the light switch.

"Are you all right?" he asked hurriedly, and Dean nodded, trying to get his breathing under control.

"I'm fine," he muttered, feeling his face grow warm. "I'm – I'm sorry I woke you…"

But Seamus had already started to glance around the room, and he'd gone very still as his eyes fixed on the far corner.

Suddenly, without turning back to Dean, he shouted, "Dad! Mum! You – you need to come in here!"

Dean threw back the covers, wondering why earth Shay was suddenly looking so alarmed. When he stood up and saw what he was staring at, though, he instantly sank back into his bed in shock. He'd done – that?

But before he could think any more about it, Mr. and Mrs. Finnigan were there, and Seamus's dad was gently lifting the immobile cat from the corner where it lay crumpled in a heap.

"Dad … Dad, is Sparky all right?"

Mr. Finnigan had placed his son's pet on Dean's bed, and he was checking for broken bones. Once he'd reassured himself that there was really no damage, he turned to his son.

"He's all right," he said, and even as Seamus sighed with relief, Mrs. Finnigan couldn't help but hear the shaky breath that escaped from Dean as well. She glanced at him quickly, but his lips were pressed tightly together, and he was focusing only on the cat.

"Dean?" she said, "We know you didn't do this intentionally. Sparky's fine. It's – it's really ok."

Dean looked at her then, and the remorse she saw in his eyes made her breath catch in her throat.

"I'm – I'm sorry, Shay," he said quietly, but Seamus didn't even look at him. He was still staring at the bed.

"He looks – he looks like Mrs. Norris," Seamus mumbled.

His parents looked at him quizzically, but Dean immediately understood, and he swallowed hard.

"I know," he said. The anguish in his voice was so sharp that now, Seamus looked up.

"Would you like to fix this?" he asked, gesturing to the hand that still grasped the wand. Dean blinked. He hadn't even realized he was still holding it.

Nodding, he stumbled toward the bed, raising his wand and murmuring, "Enervate."

Sparky yawned, stretched and twisted his body so he was facing his owner. Seamus scooped him up then and cradled him against his chest, his face in his fur, until Sparky swatted at his arm, at which point Seamus gasped in pain and released him. With a graceful twist, Sparky landed on the floor and trotted out of the room.

For a moment, there was silence. And then Seamus's mother looked at his father and said, "Let's get back to bed,' gesturing deliberately to the door. He stared at her in confusion until comprehension suddenly dawned. Glancing at Seamus and Dean, he nodded and followed his wife out of the room.

Once they were gone, Dean sank onto the bed and sat staring at his knees.

"I'm really sorry," he said, unable to look up at Seamus. "I didn't mean to… it's just… I was falling asleep and then the cat… I didn't know…"

Seamus sighed. "It's ok. I know you didn't do it on purpose, and Sparky's fine. I guess … I'll let you go back to sleep?"

The question in his friend's voice wasn't one Dean was ready to answer. He simply nodded, mumbling "thanks" as Seamus walked out, closing the door behind him. He got back into bed and sighed. There was no use closing his eyes. He knew he wasn't going to be sleeping tonight.

_**A/N: Sparky's all for you, Lisa. Next chapter is when the funerals start… oddly enough, I don't think those will take me quite as long to write. Please read and REVIEW!**_


	4. Breathe

When Dean and Seamus arrived at the Burrow early the next afternoon, they hesitated before passing through the protective wards. Neither of them would look at each other, but Dean could sense Shay's nervousness, and he cleared his throat, saying "All right, then?"

Shay paused for a moment before jerking his head in a quick nod, and they walked on, feeling a slight tingle as the wards recognized and allowed them through. The first sight they encountered, though, was of the crowd of people in the garden outside the Burrow, and Seamus swallowed hard. It was quiet… too quiet, he thought. He'd never been to visit Ron before, but he couldn't imagine that the Burrow was ever anything like this.

Slowly, they walked into the crowd, and the first person Seamus recognized was Luna. He led Dean over to her, hardly noticing the way Dean's spine seemed to stiffen.

"Hey, Luna," Seamus said, touching her shoulder. She turned to face him and blinked in surprise when she took in Dean standing there as well.

"Hello," she said quietly. Her gaze was measured and serious, and Seamus seemed to take heart in this.

"Have you seen any of the Weasleys? Or Harry?" he asked, but she hitched her shoulder and tilted her head.

"Ginny was out earlier," she said. "She came over to me and said hello. It was really very nice of her. It certainly seemed like she'd have more important things to do."

At the sound of Ginny's name, Dean shifted uncomfortably, and Luna turned to him.

"I haven't heard from you in a long time," she said quietly, and he felt shame pour over him. He tried to look directly into her eyes but found himself examining a spot somewhere over her left shoulder.

"We've been sort of busy," he hedged, and she looked at him thoughtfully before saying quietly, "Well maybe I should come out and see you sometime then."

Dean found himself nodding and deliberately avoiding Seamus's surprised eyes. There would be time to explain this later. The crowd was moving.

When they arrived at the cemetery, they found themselves toward the back of the group and slowly started inching their way up. It wasn't until they caught sight of Ron that they stopped, both of them feeling as though they'd run directly into a brick wall. He was whiter than either of them had ever seen him, and he was clutching Hermione's hand so tightly that it was clear she was the only reason he was still upright. Exchanging a glance, they moved closer, and that was when Hermione noticed them and smiled weakly.

"Hello," she said softly, and she tugged gently on Ron's hand, trying to call his attention to them. He looked up dully and gave a brief nod before returning his attention to the officiating wizard who had just begun to speak.

Dean knew he wasn't the only one who was having trouble concentrating on what this man was saying. He was trying with all his might to avoid looking at any of the Weasleys, but there were just so many of them, and every time his eyes moved away from one, they landed on another.

Ron was still staring straight ahead, but there was something in his numbness now that hurt Dean. It was simply that he wasn't – well, he wasn't nearly as numb as he was pretending to be, and Dean couldn't help but notice that he seemed to be trembling slightly.

There didn't seem to be a safe place to look – or to listen either, Dean realized, as the words started sinking in.

"He was a brother, a twin, a friend, but most importantly, Fred Weasley was a son. And now his father would like to say a few words about him. Arthur?"

Dean swallowed hard, and he could hear the audible click as Seamus did the same. This funeral – this _reality _– was unbearable enough, but to see Arthur Weasley's grief wasn't something either of them thought he could bear. And when Arthur began to speak, it wasn't even the words that registered with both Dean and Seamus. It was his voice. It was the trembling, the small cracks, the absolute utter anguish that forced Dean to take deep, measured breaths and stare determinedly ahead. He would not think about his … no. Beside him, Seamus was sighing, and he couldn't miss the shakiness in his breathing either.

Turning away quickly, Dean caught sight of Ginny for the first time. She was standing with George, and Dean could see from the set of her jaw that she was struggling and that George, and the shape he was in, weren't helping. Tears were running unchecked down his cheeks, and he wasn't even bothering to wipe them away. When Ginny stepped forward to help him drop the crumbling dirt on his twin's grave, he almost collapsed, and Dean could see that it was only her firm grip on one side and Percy's on the other that were keeping him upright. As Dean watched the three of them, Ginny bit her lip and closed her eyes, and his own stomach started to hurt. He let out a deep breath and turned away, only to stiffen in shock when his eyes caught sight of a figure in the distance.

It was Harry. He was standing far away from everyone else, his back to a tree, and even from this distance, Dean knew he didn't want to see the look on his old friend's face. He glanced at Shay, and his vaguely horrified expression told him that he felt the same way. Harry was one of their best friends, but … they had no idea what to say to him. Although it didn't seem like that should be a concern since it didn't seem like Harry would have anything to say to _them _either.

They weren't wrong. Once everyone had returned to the Burrow, Harry was nowhere to be found, and Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna, Neville, Dean and Seamus settled themselves on the hard ground of the orchard with plates of sandwiches balanced precariously on their laps.

For a long time, none of them spoke. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean watched Ginny violently stab at a strawberry with a plastic fork that Arthur had insisted Molly put out for once, (_she had enough other things to worry about, for Merlin's sake, and dishes didn't need to be one of them_), and it was rapidly becoming pulp when Hermione said, "Gin, if you're not going to eat it, can I have that strawberry?"

They all looked up, and it was as though Ginny were waking from a trance. Dean didn't want to know what she'd been seeing.

"What…?" she started, and then she glanced down at her plate and grimaced. "Sorry," she mumbled and popped the strawberry in her mouth.

None of them missed Hermione's small sigh of relief, and even Ginny smiled.

"Is that better?" she asked around her mouthful, and Hermione nodded sheepishly.

"I don't know why." She shrugged. "You know how I feel about attacking defenseless…"

"Strawberries?" Neville was laughing, and the rest of them smiled… except for Ron. And suddenly, none of them could help but notice that he hadn't moved at all since they'd all sat down. He was still hunched over his plate, still not eating, still not looking at anyone else. The laughter ended as quickly as it had begun.

Hermione shifted uncomfortably.

"So where are you two staying right now?" she asked, turning the conversation to Seamus and Dean. To Dean's immense relief, Shay answered. He couldn't have explained why he didn't feel like talking, either. It might have had something to do with the way Ginny had glanced at him sharply when they'd all sat down together in the orchard. It might have had something to do with the fact that he couldn't maintain eye contact with Luna for more than three seconds at a time. All he knew was that if he said a word, they'd both be able to tell exactly how inexplicably hard this day was for him, and he wasn't prepared for anyone to know that.

"So… yeah," Seamus concluded lamely. "We're just staying with my folks, driving my mum nuts when we play football in the house…" He trailed off and blinked in surprise when Luna smiled at him.

"It sounds perfectly wonderful," she said dreamily. Turning her gaze on Dean, she said softly, "And how are your parents?"

He stared at her and realized, with sudden clarity, that she had to be angry with him. There could be no other reason for her to ask him such a question, especially in front of all of their friends – especially when she already knew the answer. He shook his head slightly, and she stared at him for a moment before turning away. Out of the corner of his eye, he knew Ginny was looking at him in confusion, but he purposefully turned his eyes back to his food. He wouldn't – and couldn't – do this now. Not now. There would be time for it later.

Ron's hoarse voice cut the tension abruptly.

"The next one – it's for Lupin, right? Lupin and Tonks?"

Dean felt as though someone had poured cold water down the back of his jumper, and a chill coursed through him even as Hermione muttered assent. Suddenly, _none_ of them could look at each other, and then, Dean was jumping to his feet and hauling Seamus up along with him.

"We'd – we'd better get going," he said, bending down to grab their plates and forcing a very unnatural smile onto his face. Seamus was staring at him, and so was everyone else, but he didn't care. He had to go. It was that simple.

For a moment, Seamus stared at him before shaking his head, manufacturing his own unnatural smile and waving a quick goodbye.

And Dean knew he would always be grateful to Seamus for not asking one single question. He doubted he could have answered him anyway. The next funerals were tomorrow…

_A/N: I am beyond sorry for the long delay. I never expected this chapter to bog me down like it did. The next one, though, should be much easier for me, which means quicker updates for everyone else. And special thanks to Lisa for her input (and Fi for her nagging me to finally just do this. Told you I would!)_


	5. Those Who You've Known

Dean went silently into his room when he and Seamus got back to the house that night. Seamus knew better than to even attempt a conversation right then. As much as he knew Dean wished he hadn't, he _had _seen the look on his best mate's face, and he understood that this was a time when Dean was best left alone.

The next morning, Dean stood under the hot spray in the shower and tried to let it ease the stiffness in his muscles. When he'd been standing there for ten minutes and still felt no difference, he sighed and turned off the water. It was no use. Any tension in his shoulders today wasn't going to go away with a shower. This went much deeper than that.

He stepped out of the tub and ran the towel over his hair before wrapping it securely around himself and walking into his bedroom. He stopped in surprise to find Seamus lounging on his bed, waiting for him.

"Long time in there, mate," Shay said casually, only glancing up from his magazine for a moment. Dean breathed a small sigh of relief that this wasn't intended to be one of THOSE discussions, and he nodded noncommittally.

"Just felt like warming up for a change. It was kind of … cold … yesterday, and I don't imagine it'll be much better… today…"

He turned away quickly to pull out his clothes. It hadn't been cold yesterday, he realized. It was June, for heaven's sake. But _he'd _felt cold, and now he hoped he hadn't said too much. This was the last thing he wanted to think about right now with Seamus right there in front of him. But even as he pulled his boxer shorts on under his towel and let the towel fall to the floor, Seamus said haltingly, "That – that thing yesterday – with Luna. What – what was that all about?"

Dean had been pulling on a shirt, but he froze, and for a moment, his face was hidden by the material. Then, slowly, he yanked it the rest of the way over his head and shrugged.

"It's nothing," he said. He was trying to keep his voice light, but he knew Seamus could see right through him. And a quick glance at the bed showed him that he wasn't appreciating being lied to either.

"It didn't _seem _like nothing," Seamus muttered mulishly, but Dean shrugged again. He couldn't – it was going to be a hard enough day. He couldn't get into any sort of explanations about any of that now. There was too much anyway. But Seamus couldn't hide the hurt in his eyes, and Dean found himself asking "Can I – I'll tell you later, all right? There's just – there's too much to get into right now."

There really was, Dean realized as Seamus nodded slightly, and the tension eased. There was still so much he hadn't told his best mate – about Luna, about his parents, about his year… he shook his head to rid himself of these thoughts. Not now. He couldn't afford to let himself think about _any _of that right now.

He finished dressing in silence, and once he was ready, Seamus popped off the bed.

"Ready to go?" he asked, and Dean sighed.

He shook his head. "No," he said, feeling as though he were being honest for the first time in weeks. "But I guess we don't really have much of a choice, do we."

Seamus looked almost surprised by the answer, but then he gave Dean a half smile.

"No, we don't. But at least we're going together."

Dean somehow managed to smile back. There was something in that after all.

* * *

When they arrived at the Tonks' house, Seamus and Dean looked around curiously. They'd never been there before, but when the first thing Dean's eyes landed on was a wedding photo of Ted and Andromeda, followed quickly by a photo of Remus and Tonks, he drew in his breath sharply, and Seamus was suddenly and forcefully reminded of his behavior at the Hogwarts memorial when they'd heard Remus's name. He glanced at his friend worriedly, but Dean was staring straight ahead, his lips pursed together, his chin set. Seamus sighed but realized that he now knew better than to say anything. Dean would – hopefully – be all right. But he was starting to think there was nothing he could do to ensure that.

Before either of them could get a chance to say a word to Andromeda, everyone was ushered outside to the service. Dean and Seamus managed to find the Weasleys, but Seamus also noted that Dean made it a point to sit as far from Ginny as possible. There was so much he didn't know about his friend these days, he kept realizing, and the thought put a pit in his stomach as he found himself between Ron and Dean.

The service was similar to Fred's in so many ways, but in so many ways, it also wasn't. For one thing, as Dean couldn't help but notice… there were two coffins this time, and the purple wolfsbane on top of his old professor's sent a tremor through him. He held himself tightly and closed his eyes briefly, blowing out a gust of air.

Suddenly, a sound pierced his shell, and he realized that it must be Remus and Tonks's baby crying. Craning his neck for a moment, he caught sight of Andromeda cradling the infant, who looked as if he refused to be soothed. Dean couldn't blame him. Here was this defenseless baby with no parents… the kinship Dean suddenly felt was so sharp it almost brought him to his knees, and he had to clamp his teeth together and close his eyes again.

When he opened them, he slowly became aware of Harry again, off in the distance. This time, though, he didn't look quite as numb. And as Dean watched, he suddenly bent double, retching. He watched in horror as Harry turned and stumbled off even as the officiating wizard settled the dirt onto the coffins. But he made no move to follow his friend. There was nothing he understood better than wanting to be alone at a time like this.

When everyone turned to go back inside, the throngs in the house were almost as overwhelming as they had been at the Burrow, and Dean found himself once again with Seamus, Luna, Neville, Ron and Hermione. Ginny was off somewhere, and part of him couldn't help but wonder if maybe she'd gone to find Harry. But he didn't ask.

The six of them were sitting together at a small table in the back of the house when Seamus wondered if maybe Dean wanted to leave here early, too. He looked at him and blurted, "Uh… are you ready to go yet?"

Dean looked up from his examination of the tabletop in surprise. He shook his head.

"Not – not yet," he said, avoiding everyone's eyes but Seamus's. Seamus flushed. He used to be able to read Dean, but now… well, now it probably looked as though he hardly knew him at all. Dean glanced away. He knew Seamus was trying to help, but he needed to talk to Andromeda. He was just hoping the crowds would thin, so he could have less of an audience. Seamus sighed but didn't ask again.

Hermione glanced around nervously and cleared her throat.

"So … who's planning on going back to Hogwarts in September?"

For a moment, no one said a word, and then Luna said, "Well, Dad thinks I should go back. Since last June, there have been reports about Blibbering Humdingers and Crumple-Horned Snorkacks turning up in Hogsmeade. He wants me to be there, so I can give him a full, eye-witness report."

Hermione, who, at any other time, might have rolled her eyes at such a pronouncement, smiled at Luna so gratefully that Luna beamed at her in return. Neville tried to cover an involuntary laugh with a cough, and even Ron's lips twitched. Neville had just opened his mouth to speak when Dean realized that Andromeda was alone at last.

"Be right back," he muttered distractedly, and, oblivious to his friends' surprised looks, he bolted from the table.

Andromeda was sitting on the couch, holding the mercifully sleeping baby, and she looked up at Dean, her eyebrows furrowing.

"I don't believe we've met before?" she asked, holding out a hand, and Dean shook hers as he awkwardly hovered over her.

"I'm – I'm Dean Thomas. Professor Lupin was my professor at Hogwarts, and – well – I spent most of the past year on the run with your husband," he said in a rush.

Andromeda's eyes widened in surprise, and she slowly gestured for Dean to take the empty seat beside her.

"It's nice to meet you," she murmured, but though her voice was calm, Dean noticed that her grip on the baby had tightened.

He perched on the edge of the couch and took a steadying breath before saying, "I just thought you should know… he – well, he talked about you – and Tonks, of course – all the time."

Andromeda smiled though he couldn't tell whether it was genuine or not.

"Thanks for that," she said softly, but he shook his head. He wasn't finished.

"I also wanted you to know that he – well, he didn't – he didn't die in vain. He knew we were in danger, but he told me to run – that he would cover for me. He said I had a whole future to look forward to, and he wouldn't listen when I tried to argue. He – well, I guess he saved my life" and in a much lower voice, he added, "even if it were at the expense of his own."

Andromeda didn't say anything for a moment, and then she said, "Then you need to make sure it was worth it, don't you."

He glanced at her, and she was looking straight at him, her gaze measured. He nodded.

"I will," he promised. For a moment, the two sat in silence, and then, hesitantly, he rose from the couch.

"I'm very sorry," he added, and Andromeda nodded even as he hurriedly backed out of the room.

He wasn't sure where he was going. He knew he probably should have gone back to the table where he was sure his friends were still sitting, but somehow, he found himself outside, and sitting there alone against the hedge was Ginny. She looked at him and silently patted the ground. Hardly realizing what he was doing, he dropped down beside her, his own back against the prickly leaves.

For a moment, neither of them said a word, and then Ginny said, "You spoke to her, didn't you."

It wasn't a question, and maybe it was being with someone who understood him better sometimes than he even understood himself that caused the tears to well up in his eyes. He blinked furiously even as he nodded. He tried to keep his face turned carefully away from her, but she heard his breathing, and she inched closer to him.

"Dean?" she said. "It was – it was a nice thing to do. It was the _right _thing to do."

He couldn't open his mouth. She might have been right – hell, he knew she was – but if he opened his mouth, the sob might come out. That couldn't – could NOT happen. He clamped his lips even more tightly together and continued to look the other way. But – she reached out and put arm across his shoulders – and the battle was lost.

Almost against his will, he slumped into her shoulder and closed his eyes. He meant to sigh – he did – but the sob came out instead, and then he was burying his face in her auburn hair as the tears came hot and fast. And Ginny, mercifully, said nothing, simply rubbed his back and stayed silent.

* * *

Seamus wondered where Dean had gone. It wasn't that he didn't want to be with the others – he did – but he was worried about Dean. He could tell how hard this whole thing was for him – contrary to his constant reassurances that he was fine – and he needed to know where he was. Excusing himself, he pushed his chair back from the table and wandered off in the same direction Dean had gone. Not finding him in any of the crowds in the house, he went back outside – and stopped short.

Ginny's eyes were pained, but she simply looked at Seamus over Dean's shaking shoulders. Her expression didn't change, and she continued to rub his back soothingly. Seamus felt as though he'd been clubbed over the head, and he stumbled away, back to the table where his friends still sat.

"Shay? Are you all right?" Hermione asked, and he glanced at her, nodding quickly. Of course he was. This was nothing a quick conversation with Dean wouldn't fix… wasn't it? Suddenly, he wasn't so sure. He wasn't so sure he knew his best mate at all anymore.

* * *

It felt like hours to Dean but was probably only minutes when he finally pulled himself out of Ginny's embrace.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, embarrassed, as he drew the sleeve of his shirt across his eyes. She shook her head.

"There's nothing to be sorry about," she said firmly, and he glanced at her for a moment before nodding and glancing away.

"Right," he said. His voice sounded hoarse in his own ears, but he found that he needed to explain.

"It's just – he saved me," he said, and his voice cracked. He brushed his hand over his eyes again, but he was determined to continue. "He knew – we both did – that we wouldn't get out of it alive once they'd found us, and – and he told me…"

He'd said it once to Andromeda, but the thought of saying it again was suddenly overwhelming, and he found himself covering his eyes with his hand as he choked out, "he said I should run – that I had more to live for. But how is that true? It's not. He has a grandson who he never met, and that baby doesn't even have parents anymore. It's not fair, Gin. It's – just – not – fair."

His face twisted horribly, and suddenly he was crying again, his face in his hands, and Ginny's hand cupped the back of his neck. This time, though, she spoke.

"No, Dean, it isn't fair. Nothing about this war was fair. If things were, don't you think my brother would be here now?" Her voice shook, but she took a deep breath, swallowed hard, and continued. "It's not fair. It just is. And you just have to make sure that you live your life now to honor this sacrifice – that you make the most of what you have and that you appreciate every day. That's the best way you can honor him, Dean, and honestly – don't you think that's all he would have wanted?"

Dean forced himself to breathe deeply, in and out, until he was calm enough to answer, and when he took his hands away to look at Ginny again, the lines around his mouth had eased slightly.

"Yeah," he admitted. "It is. That's what she said, too," he added, gesturing with his chin to where Andromeda sat inside the house, and Ginny nodded.

"Well, that's that then," she said simply, and suddenly she got to her feet, extending a hand to Dean and pulling him up as well. She examined him critically for a moment and then said, "Come here," and she hugged him tightly.

"Thanks, Ginny," he mumbled into her ear. "I don't know what I'd have done if you hadn't …"

But she let go and shook her head.

"It was nothing," she said dismissively before flashing him a quick smile. "It's what friends do."

Friends… Dean suddenly realized that Seamus must have been waiting all this time, and his heart sank.

"I've got to get going," he said apologetically. "But I'll talk to you soon?"

Ginny nodded understandingly but watched him go, her brow furrowing in concern. She hoped Seamus knew enough not to mention what he'd seen. Dean would – well, he would not take kindly to _that._

_

* * *

_Seamus hardly looked up when Dean resumed his seat at the table. No one else looked too closely at him either – well, except for Luna, who glanced at him and then did a double take, fixing him with a gaze that was uncomfortably understanding. He shifted in his seat and looked at Seamus instead.

"Hey, Shay – you ready to go now?"

Seamus shrugged. "Sure," he mumbled, and he pushed his chair back from the table, saying a quick goodbye to their other friends before walking off without so much as a backward glance to make sure Dean was following.

Puzzled, Dean did follow, and when they were back in front of the Finnigan house, and Seamus _still _wasn't looking at him, Dean asked, "Everything all right, mate?"

Seamus glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and hitched his shoulder.

"I don't know. Is it?"

Dean looked at him for a moment without answering. Seamus let out an exasperated sigh and walked into the house, leaving Dean to follow once again. They called hello to Seamus's parents before taking the stairs two at a time, and then both stopped abruptly at the door to Seamus's room.

"I'm going to lie down," Seamus muttered, pushing his door open. It seemed that he was about to close it in his face, so Dean put out a hand to stop him.

"Wait a minute. I asked first. Are you all right? You're not acting like yourself…"

He trailed off as Seamus's eyes widened.

"_I'm _not acting like _my_self?" His voice rose, and he stared at Dean incredulously. "If you were acting like _your_self, then _maybe_ you could talk, but in order for you to do that, then you actually _would _be talking to me and not to _Ginny_ _Weasley _instead."

Dean froze and stared at Seamus, who suddenly seemed to realize what he'd said. Before he could say another word, though, Dean turned on his heel and stalked off down the hallway. As the door to the guestroom slammed shut, Seamus closed his own and leaned against it, breathing hard.

He hadn't said anything wrong. He _hadn't_. But then… why did it feel so much like he had? And even more important… why wasn't Dean talking to him? He swallowed hard. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer.

_**A/N: I knew this chapter would take less time. Thanks, as always, to Lisa, who I'm convinced must be my muse. I hope you like this. This one really just wrote itself.**_


	6. The MirrorBlue Night

**A/N: I don't even know how to apologize for a delay of this magnitude, but I do promise that updates will be appearing more quickly now. In an effort to bring everyone back up to speed, here is a recap of the last chapter:**

_**In the last chapter, Dean and Seamus went to Lupin and Tonks's funeral, and Dean spoke to Andromeda and told her what it was like to be on the run with Ted. When he walked away, he ran into Ginny, and when he told her about the conversation, he broke down. Seamus saw this and got really upset that Dean would talk to Ginny and not to him. Shay said nothing, though, and they went back home. When they got there, though, he wasn't really speaking to Dean, so Dean pressed him. Shay snapped back that Dean should just talk to Ginny... which led to Dean slamming the door on a very conflicted Seamus.**_

Seamus couldn't sleep. This was nothing new, obviously, but it wasn't the lights that were keeping him awake as anyone would've undoubtedly guessed. The darkness would've woken him more than any lamp left on in his room. No, he couldn't sleep because Dean still wasn't speaking to him, and now he couldn't stop wondering how things would _ever _get back to normal.

Whenever he thought of what he'd said when they got back to the house, he felt himself flush with shame. He didn't know why he'd said it. He knew that if Dean had seen _him_ in such a vulnerable position, _he'd_ never have said anything. But he'd just been so hurt that Dean hadn't trusted him enough to open up that he couldn't help it – the words had just spilled out of his mouth. And now… Shay sighed and tried to punch the pillow into a more comfortable position – but to no avail. He still couldn't sleep.

He was still awake, still staring at the ceiling when the first sunlight infiltrated his room, and he sighed. His eyes felt gritty. Pushing himself out of bed, he yawned hugely as he stumbled across the room, instinctively grabbing his wand as he went. He tried not to let himself think about the strange looks he'd been getting from his parents when he showed up to the kitchen table with his wand. He just – he needed it. There was really nothing to discuss.

Locking himself in the bathroom, Seamus turned on the shower as hot as he could stand and aimed his wand at the door, muttering every possible charm he could think of. When he was reassured that the door was good and secured, he shed his clothes and stepped into the shower. He just stood there for a few minutes, the spray enveloping him. Slowly, he felt himself starting to relax, and he sighed. It'd been too long since he'd felt this way.

He was stretching his sore muscles when suddenly, there was a sound that caused him to freeze, his hand clenched around the wand that he hadn't even realized he'd brought into the shower with him.

"It's just me, dear. I've brought you some more towels." Mrs. Finnigan's voice came breezily through the shower curtain, but Seamus thought he'd never heard a more piercing sound.

"Get out!" His voice was shrill, and his palms slipped as he shoved himself back against the wet tile, trying to grasp for purchase. He pressed himself into the unyielding wall and wished he could just disappear.

There was silence for a moment, and then his mother said softly, "Seamus? It's just me… it's just – you needed towels…"

She trailed off as she heard him gasping for air, and she found herself taking a step toward the shower before forcing herself to step back to the door.

"I'm – I'll just go get your dad," she mumbled. She stared for a moment at the curtain, not knowing that on the other side, Seamus was plastered to the wall, his face wreathed in misery, holding his breath.

It wasn't until he heard the click of the door closing behind her that he managed to move at all, to peel himself off the wall, and he stared at his wand, wondering how she'd managed to get past all of the charms he'd cast. The fact that the wand was trembling – that _he _was trembling – was something he tried very hard to ignore. He couldn't let himself think about it for long, though. She'd said she was getting his dad.

He climbed out of the shower and threw his clothing onto his wet body. He'd grabbed a towel for his hair and was trying to make a quick exit from the bathroom when he nearly walked into his father.

For a moment, neither of them said a word. Seamus studied his feet even as he knew his father was studying him. Finally, his dad said gruffly, "Let's go talk somewhere, all right?"

There was no arguing. Seamus knew that, much as he'd have liked to try. Mutely, he followed his father into his study, sighing when he shut the door behind him. His was not a family that shut doors. This meant that they really _were _worried.

Seamus's father gestured for him to sit on the small couch, and Seamus winced as his wet clothes stuck to him and to the cushion beneath him. His father didn't seem to notice, though, as he took a seat beside him. The uncomfortable silence grew until finally, Mr. Finnigan cleared his throat.

"Listen, Shay, your mother and I know you've been having a tough time of it these days. We just – well, I just wanted to talk to you about this a bit … unless," he added hastily, "you'd rather talk to Dean, which would be fine."

Seamus couldn't help but notice that his father looked slightly hopeful, but he just shook his head and mumbled, "I don't think – I don't think Dean wants to talk to _me._"

He couldn't miss the surprise on his father's face, and he felt himself flushing even as he sullenly explained, "He was talking to _Ginny_, Dad."

When his father looked confused, Seamus sighed.

"I've been waiting for days now for him to tell me _anything _about what happened to him this year. He hasn't said a _word_. But at the funeral yesterday? He was crying to Ginny Weasley. She's his _ex-girlfriend_, and he'd rather talk to _her _than to _me?_"

Seamus could hear the hurt in his voice, and he was sure his father could hear it, too, but he just didn't care. He glared at his father, daring him to contradict him.

Mr. Finnigan sighed. "Look, Shay… you know how hard this must be for Dean, right? It's not like you were just sitting around last year, attending classes like usual. You both – you both had your share of trauma…" he trailed off. Seamus had turned white and his hands were fisting the cushions. Mr. Finnigan swallowed. He'd have to tread carefully here. "You have to know," he continued, his voice even gentler, "that you talk to whoever it is that can make you feel better at that moment. Dean isn't shutting you out. He just happened to let Ginny in…"

Seamus couldn't look at his father. He stared at his knees, hoping his dad wouldn't see how quickly he was blinking.

"Yeah," he managed to mutter. After a moment and a few deep breaths, he said, "I just – I wish he still trusted me."

Mr. Finnigan tried not to get exasperated, but it was hard. He'd heard the tears in his son's voice, and he wished desperately that his wife hadn't decided he was the right person for this job. If she were here right now… but, no. They both knew that her comfort wasn't what Seamus needed right now.

"He does trust you," he tried to say patiently. He shook his head. "It's not about trust, though, is it? I mean – have you talked to Dean about Hogwarts this past year? Have the two of you talked about the Battle at all? You've been to two funerals together now… have you talked about those?"

He knew the answers to his questions, and Seamus's quick shake of his head only confirmed this.

"See?" he said. "You trust him – but you haven't talked about any of these things. So why…"

But before he could finish his question, Seamus cut in breathlessly. "You don't _get _it, Dad. You just don't talk about these things. It's – it was awful – watching people get killed like that."

His father sat back in his seat and eyed him skeptically.

"I don't understand? Really? Have you never heard of the IRA? Have you never heard of what they accomplished in the 1970's? Have you never known why we have these pictures around the house of people you've never met?"

His voice was getting louder, and he forced himself to calm down. There was no use in getting excited over something that couldn't be changed. That was just one thing he knew he'd have to teach his son.

Seamus was looking at him now, and for the first time that either of them could remember, a look of complete understanding passed between them.

"I'm sorry," Shay whispered. He glanced down once before looking at his father once again. "I forgot…"

Mr. Finnigan nodded quickly in acknowledgment and then decided this was the time do it, to ask the question he and his wife knew they needed to ask.

"Is there – is there anything that happened at Hogwarts this year that you wanted to talk about?"

Seamus was completely still but for the fact that his hand had clenched once more on his wand.

"No."

His voice was wooden.

"But…" his father knew he shouldn't give up. But Seamus was suddenly rocketing to his feet, and his voice was many octaves higher and many decibels louder as he repeated, "NO! There's – there's nothing. You wouldn't – no." And he bolted from the room before his father could ask another question.

Mr. Finnigan stared after his son, feeling as though he'd been doused with ice water. This – this was far more serious than either he or his wife had known. He didn't want to think about why he was so sure. He didn't want to remember the friends he'd had who'd never put down their guns again, who'd never smiled again, who'd never been at peace again. He couldn't bring himself to remember the experiences that led them to be so afraid, so untrusting, so _haunted_. He couldn't bear to think that this was his son's fate … or why.


	7. I Don't Do Sadness

_**A/N: Well, this is definitely a shorter lapse than my last one. And I'll be away for the next ten days, so no updates until I get back. I hope this holds everyone over in the meantime. **_

Dean glared at the closed door and wished, for the third time in as many minutes, that there was _somewhere _else he could go right now. He wasn't crazy enough to actually think of going back to his own house, but he didn't want to be in the Finnigan house right now either.

When he really thought about it, he knew that what Seamus had said wasn't _that _bad – but at the same time, it almost was. Dean kind of understood where Shay was coming from – he really did. But that didn't excuse the fact that he'd embarrassed him _and _made him feel _guilty._ And why should he feel _guilty _for talking to one of his friends when he was upset about something? Ginny was his friend just as much as Seamus was… but here, he was pulled up short again by reality. That wasn't true, and he knew it, no matter how much he tried to justify this to himself. Ginny wasn't a friend like Seamus. No one was. Seamus was his best mate—yes, still. But Dean just – he wasn't ready to tell him what the past year had been like. He didn't know why, either. Maybe – maybe it was because to say it to Seamus would've made it even more real. But maybe it was also because he was afraid of what he might hear in return. As much as he'd like to think – for both of their sakes – that he'd been through much, much worse – he had a sinking feeling that this might not actually be true.

Dean shook himself. Thinking about all of this wasn't helping. In fact, he was feeling decidedly worse. Eating might be the only thing that could help his mood, so he shoved himself off the bed. If he ran into Shay, he could always just come right back in here, but he somehow didn't think Shay would be venturing into the kitchen at – he glanced at the clock – seven in the morning.

Thankfully, he made his way to the kitchen unnoticed and had just taken out a bowl and some cereal when he heard a sound in the doorway. He whirled around but let out a sigh of relief to see that it was only Mrs. Finnigan. For some reason, she was one of the few people these days who _didn't _make him tense. He smiled at her, and she walked into the kitchen, smiling back, though her eyes weren't in it.

"Good morning, Dean," she said as she moved directly to the teapot. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean could see that her hands were shaking slightly, and he turned towards her as he put his bowl down on the table, asking quietly, "Would you like me to take care of that?"

She looked up in surprise from her contemplation of the teabags, and then she looked back down at her hands and sighed.

"Yes, please," she said. She sank into a seat, and Dean quickly flicked his wand at the pot, setting the water to steaming. Once he heard the whistle, he summoned a cup for Mrs. Finnigan, who was still sitting silently, staring at the table top.

Once they were both settled, Mrs. Finnigan took a few sips of her tea before finally turning to Dean. He was shoveling the cereal into his mouth, but he felt her eyes on him, and he looked up questioningly.

Mrs. Finnigan looked at him for a moment before saying hesitantly, "don't – please don't think I'm asking you to tell me anything you don't feel comfortable sharing, Dean. It's just – well – Seamus won't talk to us, really, about anything, and I'm – we're – worried about him. I was wondering if you knew…"

But Dean shook his head, cutting her off. "I don't know what's going on with him," he said shortly.

There was silence for a moment as Dean turned his focus entirely on his bowl of cereal, and Mrs. Finnigan watched the top of his head with understanding and more than a little concern. Seamus wasn't talking to her. He wasn't talking to _Dean_. She had to hope her husband was having better luck right now.

* * *

Dean couldn't remember another time when he'd eaten breakfast that quickly. He also couldn't think of another time when he'd been that desperate to get away from Mrs. Finnigan. He knew she was asking because she was worried, but her question had only served as a reminder of all he didn't know – and he was starting to feel worse and worse the more he thought about that. As he made his way back to the guest room, he found his feet slowing as he approached Mr. Finnigan's study door. He could hear muffled voices inside, and he glanced at his watch doubtfully. Seamus was obviously in there at – 7:20 in the morning? Almost reluctantly, he found himself moving closer to the door – and then jerked back as he heard Mr. Finnigan nearly shout, _"Have you never heard of the IRA? Have you never heard of what they accomplished in the 1970's? Have you never known why we have these pictures around the house of people you've never met?"_

Dean didn't bother to wait around for Seamus's answer. He was almost jogging by the time he got back to his room, and he shut the door behind him with a sigh of relief. He was more convinced than ever right now not to go back to his own house. Those were not conversations he relished having with his own … parents. No, he could make do here a little longer.

But his eyes fell on the paper on the desk. He dropped slowly into the chair and pulled the quill over. He'd promised Luna he'd be in touch. He couldn't think of anything else to do, and he started to write.

_Luna – _

_I know it's taken me an inexcusably long time to write. I've been settling in here with Seamus, and things have been pretty hectic, but I know excuses don't make much of a difference to you, so I'll just say I'm sorry and leave it at that. It's just – well, I'm not really sure what it is I need to say. I'm staying here because I don't want to go home, as you undoubtedly already know. And I haven't really told Seamus much about that, which doesn't actually make these living arrangements all that comfortable. As a matter of fact, Shay and I aren't even exactly speaking to each other right now. He got all bent out of shape when he saw me talking to Ginny at Lupin's funeral, and now we don't seem to have much to say to each other. It's all right, though. I kind of like the solitude._

Dean put down the quill for a moment and rubbed at his eyes. Now _that_ was a load of rubbish. If Luna fell for that, then he'd know that she didn't really know him at all. He grabbed the quill and wrote quickly,

_I have loads of free time, so maybe someday, I'll even stop by and visit. Talk to you soon, I'm sure._

_-Dean_

He rolled the parchment and cracked open his door. The only way to get this letter to Luna would be to either borrow Seamus's owl or go to the owlery in town. He glanced down the hall at Seamus's tightly shut door and sighed. The owlery it was.

* * *

It was a cold drizzly day, and Dean was thoroughly chilled and uncomfortably damp when he finally made it to the front of the queue. The witch at the counter took his parchment brusquely and quickly and efficiently tied it to the nearest owl, sending it soaring into the sky. She looked at him unsmilingly.

"Will that be all?"

Dean nodded. "Thank you," he muttered and stumbled back out again into what was quickly becoming a steady downpour. He was soaked by the time he got back to the house and wanted nothing more than to sit before the fire. Luckily, no one was there when he walked in, and he flicked his wand in the direction of the fireplace. He'd just sunk into the couch when a face suddenly appeared in the flames, and he yelped and jumped backwards.

"Don't be scared." Luna's soft voice crackled in the flames, and Dean stared at her, mystified.

"I just – I just sent you an owl," he managed to stutter, and her bright orange head tilted slightly.

"I know," she said. "Well, I didn't get it yet, but I knew you'd write. Want to floo over here now? My dad's out for the day, and I don't have anything on. We could talk a bit?"

Dean stared at her for a moment. She somehow always knew what he needed, and without even realizing he was doing so, he nodded.

"Yes," he said. "Give me a moment to change. I'll be over in a few."

Luna's – face? – smiled. "Good. I'll see you soon, then."

Dean turned away from the flames, his expression bemused. Sometimes, he really wondered about that girl.


	8. I Believe

_**A/N: I'm starting to really like writing this again. I think that bodes well for updates. I hope you're all liking reading it just as much. ;-) Many thanks to Lisa for the edits. It feels right now.  
**_

Dean grabbed the Floo powder and was about to toss it in the fireplace when something made him hesitate. He glanced toward the scrap of paper on the desk. _He didn't owe Seamus anything right now_, he tried to tell himself, but even he didn't believe that. _Maybe I don't need to tell him where I'm actually going_, he reasoned, as he grabbed the quill and wrote, "Went out for a bit. Be back for dinner. –Dean."

He rolled his eyes at himself as he threw the powder into the fire and stepped inside. Why did he always have to make such a big deal of everything, even if only in his own head? Moments later, as he stumbled out of the fireplace and into Luna's home, he took one look at her and realized that he hadn't made something out of nothing here. Luna was looking directly at him, and her eyes were more serious than he could remember seeing them in a long time.

"Hello," she said, and her voice had none of its usual airiness. "Let's go for a walk. I think we need to talk."

Dean wasn't as unaccustomed to Serious Luna as he knew most of their friends would be. He blinked, but nothing else indicated any sort of surprise on his part. He knew she'd want to talk. The question, really, was how much he was willing to say.

He followed her out of the house and down the winding, mossy path. For a long time, neither of them spoke. When they reached a brook, Luna came to an abrupt stop and dropped into a sitting position, her legs crossed, her elbows on her knees. Slowly, Dean lowered himself to the ground as well, but he found he couldn't look at her.

Luna studied him for a few minutes before saying, "I don't understand why it's taken you this long to write. I thought we were friends."

Now Dean looked at her, and the hurt in her eyes took his breath away, but he suddenly wanted to talk, was desperate to explain.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, looking directly into her eyes. "I wanted to write. I did. But, you know, we've been settling into this new house in Belfast. I don't know if I told you what happened when we first apparated there from Hogsmeade? You see, Shay's parents weren't in the house he'd always grown up in, and I thought he was going to lose it right there, but…"

Dean knew he was babbling, but Luna didn't interrupt him. She just sat, listened, waited until he finally ran out of breath, and then, she repeated, "I thought we were friends."

Her voice was quiet, but her pain was loud and clear, and Dean found that the words he was about to say were stuck in his throat. He just stared at her, and his mouth opened slightly, but nothing would come out. When she didn't say anything else, he swallowed.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I just… I don't know…" he trailed off miserably and looked down at the ground. There was something about both Ginny and Luna that could make him feel all sorts of things he didn't usually admit to feeling let alone show anyone. And he knew he was dangerously close to that place again right now, and he did NOT want to be.

But now Luna was looking directly at him, and he couldn't seem to look away.

"I know you've been busy," she said, her voice measured. "I know you and Shay didn't have much time together last year and must be catching up on everything you missed. But I don't understand why you've cut me out, cut your family out…"

Now it was Luna's turn to trail off because Dean was blinking too quickly, and she realized that she'd struck a nerve without even intending to. She looked away. Many hard conversations at Shell Cottage had taught her how to do this. She waited.

When Dean spoke again, his voice was hoarse, and it shook. "That's the thing," he managed to get out. "I _haven't _been catching Shay up on my year, and I don't know _anything _about his. I know you didn't get my owl yet, but we're not even talking now. And – and I don't _want _to be cutting out my family, but you _know _what happened the last time I was home. How – how can I go back there, knowing my mum _lied _to me all these years…" Now Dean's throat closed, and he couldn't say another word if he tried. He clenched his fists.

But Luna turned back to him now, and without even thinking about it, she reached out and touched his arm where his muscles were bunched tightly under his sleeve. He was trembling slightly, and she left her hand there but looked at the ground as she said, "You've cut me out, too."

Dean shook his head. "It's too hard to talk to you."

Luna's hand was suddenly gone, and he looked up with a start. Her eyes were brimming, and he felt more terrible than he could remember feeling in a long time.

"I didn't mean it that way," he said desperately, and his voice shook again. "It's just… you know me too well. You were there with me. You know – you know all of it. Talking to you just makes it all real again. And – and I don't want it to be real again. I just want it all to have been this awful dream. I want Mr. Tonks to be home with his wife and daughter and son-in-law and grandchild. I want Fred and George to be torturing Percy with the jokes from their shop. I want – I want Seamus to be able to sleep with the lights on. I want my mum to tell me the truth."

He drew his knees up this chest and rested his face on his arms. His eyes were stinging, and he knew if he looked at Luna for one more minute, he would lose any semblance of control. He hoped she would just leave him be like she'd done so many times in the past year.

But Luna looked at him and knew that this was not the time to leave him alone as much as he might've thought he wanted to be.

She scooted closer to him and gently began rubbing small circles on his back as he'd only let her do once or twice in their imprisonment. (Those had been the bad nights, the nights when even Dean couldn't pretend he wasn't terrified and lonely and just downright miserable. And as much as he'd try to deny it now, Luna could see clearly that Dean was right back where he'd been on those terrible nights.)

"You can fix this," she said quietly, her voice steady, even as she could feel his slight shaking. She cleared her throat, pretending she couldn't. "You can fix this if you just talk to people. I know it's hard, Dean, but it's not like you to pretend like this. This is all real, and that's not something you've ever really not known. It's time, though, to take that next step, and you're a Gryffindor. You're brave enough to do it."

She waited. She knew she'd said all she could, and slowly, he raised his head and looked at her. His face was full of shame as he whispered, "I am so sorry. I treated you…"

She scooted even closer and wrapped her arms around him. "I understand," she said slowly. He wasn't looking at her now, but she continued. "I was angry, and I was hurt, but now I understand. It was – it was a terrible thing we went through together, and you'd already gone through terrible things before that even. Sometimes coming to terms with all of it is just as hard."

Dean nodded his assent. "It is," he mumbled. He sighed. "But you're right. I have no choice."

Luna let go of him, and he turned to face her.

"I've monopolized this conversation," he said apologetically. "How -- how have you been? It's not like you don't have things to come to terms with, too..."

Luna shrugged, but her eyes were serious still when she said, "I do... and it's not been easy. Daddy still feels awful about everything, so it's not like I can tell him about what happened to me -- not really -- not if I don't want to make him feel worse."

Dean nodded vehemently. That was something he definitely understood.

"That's why I'm not sure how much I should tell Shay," he whispered. "I don't know -- he went through some crazy things at Hogwarts even though he hasn't really told me about it. I don't -- I don't want to make things worse for him."

Luna shook her head. "I didn't mean you shouldn't tell him, Dean. I did tell Daddy about some of it. I had to. It was -- well, when I first got home, I didn't sleep much. I couldn't sleep with the lights out when I used to only be able to sleep if it were pitch black. And when I did fall asleep, I'd have these awful nightmares that I was back in the dungeon. It was -- it was awful."

Dean swallowed. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "Shay -- Shay can't sleep with the lights out either, and I don't know what to say to him..."

Luna shook her head. "Nothing," she said. "Nothing you can say would make him feel any better. You know Shay, too. It'd only embarrass him. I don't know, Dean. I wasn't at Hogwarts the whole time this year, and then I was in the dungeon with Ollivander for so long, but I think -- well, I think I'd rather have been in the dungeon. When I was there... well, Shay would show up late for meals a lot. He'd been beaten, and there'd be all these marks all over him that he tried to hide. Whenever someone like Ginny or Neville saw one, they'd try to insist he go to Madame Pomfrey, but he refused. I don't think he ever went. By the time I left, I don't think he was doing much more than going to meals and classes anyway and sometimes not even that. He spent most of his time in your common room. One -- one time, I remember seeing him in the hall on the way to class, but there were all these people behind him. And -- well, he just kind of shoved himself flat against the wall until they all passed. He was -- he was shaking, too, I think. Dean, you need to find a way to get Seamus to talk. I think -- I think it's really important ..."

Dean stared at her for a long time, his eyes wide. Finally, he shook himself and leaned forward.

"Thank you," he said softly, and he kissed her cheek. "I don't know why it took me so long to realize that you were the one I needed to talk to."

Luna smiled. "Because you're not a Ravenclaw," she said simply, and now Dean laughed.

"So true," he said as he got to his feet and pulled her to hers and then pulled her in for a tight hug.

"Really. Thank you," he whispered, and she just squeezed him tightly in return.

"I should get back to Shay now," he said when they let go, and she nodded approvingly.

"But I'll come back soon," he said, and now she smiled.

"I know," she said, and Dean laughed again.

"You would," he said, shaking his head in amazement as he waved and then turned on the spot.

* * *

When Dean walked into the Finnigan house, he stopped in surprise to see Seamus sitting on the sofa with his note in his hand. They looked at each other for a minute and then Dean took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry," he said before Seamus could say anything, and Shay blinked.

"I – I was going to say the same thing," he said, smiling weakly.

Dean smiled, too, and he walked over to the sofa, taking the seat beside his friend.

"I know I overreacted," he said, without looking at Seamus. "I know – I know why you were upset. I know we've always talked to each other, so I know why you felt let out when you saw me – when you saw me talking to Ginny." His ears felt hot, but he pressed on anyway. "It's just that she was there. I don't think I could've taken another step at that moment after talking to Mrs. Tonks. That's the only reason, Shay. Honest."

Seamus stared straight ahead, but he nodded.

"I know," he almost whispered. "It's just – I felt like we'd been spending so much time together not talking about _anything_, and then there you were … with Ginny… and I just overreacted, I guess. I'm sorry, too. I should've just been glad someone was there for you when you needed it. It didn't need to be me."

Dean nodded shortly, and the tension in the room eased slightly. After a moment, they turned to look at each other.

"So where did you go today?" Seamus asked, trying to make his voice sound as normal as possible, and Dean replied, his own voice studiedly natural, "Luna's. She was pretty angry at me, too, but she asked me to come, so we talked for a little while."

Seamus looked at him questioningly, and Dean sighed and shook his head. "Things are ok now. She was angry for pretty much the same reasons you were. I think she's over it. Well, she is, I guess. It was my own fault anyway. I just kind of stopped talking to her, and she and I did spend an awful lot of time together last – last year."

Seamus continued to look at him, and Dean couldn't miss the questions in his eyes. He looked around the room, thinking that either of Shay's parents could just wander in at any given moment.

"Let's take a walk, ok? I – I need to talk."

Seamus didn't even blink.

"Sure," he said, getting to his feet. Without another word, the two walked out of the house.


	9. Maybe This Time

Seamus headed straight for the woods behind the house, but it was a moment before he realized that he was walking alone. He turned to see Dean hesitating on the edge of the woods, and he looked at him questioningly.

"Aren't you coming?" he asked. "It's a nice place to walk," he added. "Quiet. Peaceful."

Dean seemed to shake himself from some sort of waking nightmare.

"Sure," he said quickly, and then he was walking beside Seamus again. Neither of them spoke, but Dean was radiating tension, and Shay finally stopped in the middle of the path.

"If it's bothering you, we can go back," he said, gritting his teeth to keep the irritation from his voice, but it was hard. He couldn't stop thinking that Dean just didn't want to talk to him, and this was how it manifesting itself _this_ time. But Dean shook his head, his expression pained.

"It's not what you're thinking," he said quickly. He shifted uncomfortably, and Shay couldn't help but notice that he'd moved so his back was to a tree. "It's just… well, the last time I was in a place like this, it wasn't… it wasn't quiet. Or peaceful. I'm sorry, Shay. This isn't your fault. Can we just – can we stay here? I can – at least I can see the house …"

He trailed off, unable to look at Seamus, afraid of what he might see in his eyes, but Shay reached out then to touch Dean's shoulder, and now they looked at one another, and Dean relaxed at the understanding he saw in Seamus's eyes.

"Sure," Shay said quietly, dropping to sit, his back to the tree as well.

For a little while, neither of them said anything, and then Dean cleared his throat.

"It wasn't, you know. Peaceful. It was scary most of the time. I was – I was pretty lucky to find people to move with."

Shay nodded slightly, listening. He was afraid to say a word, afraid that one wrong one would stop Dean from saying more, but Dean kept talking, describing how Ted Tonks had helped him, telling him the stories that he'd learned about Remus and Tonks. Shay started to understand why Dean was so upset about Professor Lupin.

For a long time, Dean talked about the nights in the forest hiding with Griphook and Ted Tonks, but he started to trail off when he mentioned the night they'd gotten captured. Seamus had turned to watch him while he spoke, but now he noticed that a muscle in Dean's jaw had clenched, and he looked away.

"It was awful," Dean said hoarsely. "He knew what would happen to him, but he told me to go on anyway. Shay … I never wanted to leave him there." He almost sounded as if he were pleading with Seamus to believe him, and as much as he didn't want to turn now, Seamus knew he had no choice. Carefully, he turned to face his friend, and he wasn't surprised to see Dean's eyes full of misery and – it seemed like fear? But what was he afraid of now?

Seamus clasped his shoulder.

"Of course you didn't want to leave him," he said as soothingly as he could manage. "Anyone who knows you knows that. He told you to go, and you did what he told you. It was war times, Dean. Different rules – different rules apply."

He choked on the words. He knew it, and he was pretty sure Dean did, too, because for a long time, the two lapsed into silence. It was only broken when Dean cleared his throat.

"So how about you? How was your year? I heard a bit about the different rules at Hogwarts this year…"

Seamus stiffened, but when he looked at Dean and saw the complete lack of suspicion in his eyes, he relaxed slightly. He shook his head, and his lips twisted into a bitter smile.

"Different rules is one way of putting it," he muttered, his voice harsher than either of them expected. "I know – I know Harry says Snape was good all along, but if that's his definition of _good_… well, I wish he'd been at Hogwarts this year to see what it was like with Snape as Headmaster. He might – he might not be so quick to believe him."

Dean watched Shay, his mouth open slightly. It'd been years since he'd heard him criticize Harry, and even when he'd done it the first time, it had never been with this kind of venom. But even Seamus seemed to realize how he sounded, and he flushed.

"I know it's not Harry's fault," he said more quietly. "And I guess – I guess Snape wasn't the one actually enforcing these rules. He – he left that to the Carrows."

A small shudder coursed through him when he said the name, but when Dean reached out to touch _his _shoulder, Seamus automatically shrank away. Slowly, Dean moved his hand back, but Seamus continued to talk as though nothing had happened, though his ears had reddened slightly.

"And the Carrows… well, they left a lot of their punishments in the hands of the Slytherins. I can't be sad that Crabbe is dead." He looked at Dean now, and in spite of the defiance he was trying to project, Dean saw the tiniest hint of fear in his eyes. He spoke to it.

"That doesn't make you a bad person," he tried to say reassuringly, but Shay shook his head.

"I _know _that," he said, his voice tinged with impatience. He glanced at Dean once more but then seemed to make up his mind about something, and he sighed.

"Why didn't you want to go home?" he asked, abruptly changing the subject. "Did you and your mum have a row or something about you not going back to school last year?"

Dean jerked back slightly. This was an unwelcome turn, and he forced himself to breathe evenly. Seamus didn't know what he was asking. This couldn't be deliberate.

"Yes," he lied. "She – she wasn't happy about it. She thought – thought it'd be fine if I went back because she didn't know the whole of it, being a Muggle and all, so …"

He trailed off. He was remembering, much against his will, the look on his mother's face when he'd found that photo, and he swallowed hard. He knew that Seamus was looking at him curiously now, though, so he tried to seem calm.

"I wish we hadn't fought," he finally admitted, feeling at last as though he were telling the truth but knowing that there was so much more truth that he wouldn't say now. It wasn't that he didn't want to tell Seamus. It was that he didn't know how.

Seamus sighed and leaned back on his elbows.

"It was quite a year," he muttered darkly. "Can't say I'm sorry it's over."

Dean nodded. "Same," he mumbled.

It couldn't have been clearer to each of them that there was so much the other wasn't saying.

* * *

For what seemed like an endless stretch of time, Dean and Shay spent hours either walking through Belfast or visiting Harry and Ron. They didn't talk much, but the tension, at least, seemed to be dissipating. One morning while they were eating cereal, two owls swooped in through the window, depositing letters in front of both of them.

For a moment, nobody spoke, and then Mrs. Finnigan said brightly, "Well, I guess this means the school year's approaching." Her smile faltered, and she asked, "Aren't you boys going to open those?"

Her voice held a tinge of nervousness because once the owls had flown from the room, it seemed as if both Dean and Seamus had been turned to stone.

Mr. and Mrs. Finnigan looked at each other in confusion.

"Boys?" Mr. Finnigan said. "The letters?"

Now Shay looked up with a start. "Oh… oh, yeah," he said as if he were coming out of a daze. He looked down at the Hogwarts seal again and tried to repress the involuntary shudder that coursed through him. Suddenly, decisively, he ripped the envelope open.

Dean stirred at the noise and looked at Shay for a moment before sighing inaudibly and opening his own letter.

After a few minutes, Seamus said woodenly, "They're giving me a chance to redo my seventh year. Take NEWTs if I want to. You know – learn all the things I didn't last year."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? My letter just welcomes me to my seventh year. Again. It's like they want to pretend last year never happened since I wasn't there."

For a long time, the two of them looked at each other, and then Mrs. Finnigan said, "Well, you're both going to do it, right? You're going back?"

Seamus shook his head slowly, but as his mother looked at him in surprise, he shook it faster.

"No." It was all he said, but all three of them looked at him then. His voice had gone up at least four octaves, and he was trembling. Before anyone could ask another question, he reached for his juice glass and took a long gulp. Slamming the glass back on the table, he turned to Dean and asked, "Are you?"

Dean sighed again. "I – I guess? I think my mom – my – my parents – would want me to..."

He knew Seamus was looking at him, his brow furrowed, but he avoided his eyes as he shoveled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

The silence stretched uncomfortably until Seamus shoved his chair back from the table. Without a word, Dean followed suit, and soon they were gone again, leaving Seamus's parents alone at the table.

Mrs. Finnigan cleared her throat, and her husband looked at her and saw the pain in her eyes.

"I know," he whispered. He shook his head. "I still don't think he's going to talk, but…"

His wife looked at him tearfully. "You have to try," she said, pressing her hand to her mouth.

"I have to try," he repeated. He nodded at her and reached across the table to take her hand. "I know."

"He's not going back," she said faintly, and he shook his head.

"No, he's not. And I think this is going to have to be one of those times when we respect his decision. I don't – I don't think we have a choice."

* * *

As if by mutual consent, Dean and Seamus spent the rest of the day lounging around the house, not talking much at all. After dinner, which was full of stilted conversation about Quidditch and the weather, both boys went directly to their rooms. Shay intended to read, but he found himself yawning, and he tossed the Daily Prophet to the floor. Reaching for his wand, he dimmed all the lights, leaving only the small nightlight by the door glowing.

He sighed as he settled into the bed, but as his eyes drifted closed, he was suddenly in the dim, stone hallway, the Room of Requirement before him.

_I just have to make it a few more feet_, he thought as he raced along the corridor. _I'm almost there._

But he never made it. Rough hands grabbed his shoulders and shoved him against the wall.

"Going somewhere, Finnigan?" a harsh voice hissed in his ear, and Seamus found he couldn't even open his mouth to respond as his entire body froze in terror. It didn't matter, though. Nothing he said mattered at all.

Gasping for breath, Seamus's eyes flew open. He looked around his room in a panic and, grabbing his wand, he nearly sobbed "_Lumos_," as he quickly turned on every light.

"I'm home," he whispered. "I'm – I'm ok. I'm home."

But he didn't even believe himself. He rolled over and crushed his pillow to him. No matter how many times he repeated it, he knew it wasn't true. He wasn't ok now, and he wasn't ok then.

He was wide awake for the rest of the night. He couldn't close his eyes. He couldn't relax at all.

_**A/N: Thanks, Muse. **__****_


	10. Where I Want to Be

_A/N: This absolutely requires an apology. I know it's been over a year. If anyone's still been awaiting an update (and I know there are at least two of you), I hope this will suffice. The last chapter left off with some dark hints about what Seamus had gone through during his last year at Hogwarts, and now Dean is going back without him. More updates will follow. I have no excuses other than a ridiculously busy year and a lack of motivation, but now there's time, and the motivation is slowly returning. Hope this somehow still has an audience..._

The next step was always Diagon Alley, Dean thought as he reached for his list of the newest supplies. He glanced at it again, thinking, as he had been constantly, that he wished Seamus would go with him – and not just to Diagon Alley. Dean couldn't imagine being at Hogwarts without Seamus. (A small part of him knew that Seamus had done just that for the previous year when he'd gone to Hogwarts without _him_. But a bigger part of him knew that that Hogwarts wasn't the one they'd always known.)

But Seamus was nowhere to be found that morning, and Dean knew better than to knock on his door. When he thought of the one time he'd recently tried to broach the subject, he felt guilty. Shay had turned white, shaken his head, and practically run from the room. Dean knew he didn't understand all Seamus had been through during the previous year, but that was because Seamus wouldn't explain it – and that, in and of itself, was reason enough for him to know that things had been far worse than Dean could even imagine.

Mrs. Finnigan walked into the room as Dean was grasping a fistful of Floo powder, and she smiled, but Dean could see the lines of strain around her eyes and mouth.

"Have a good trip," she said quietly. "I wish one of us could go with you, but …" she trailed off, and he knew she really meant that she wished he'd been able to convince Seamus to accompany him. He found himself meeting her eyes, and he whispered, "I'm sorry," but she shook her head.

"It's not your fault," she said, her voice barely audible. "I'm just glad you're still here for the time being, at least. When you leave for school, you'll keep in touch with Shay as much as possible, right?"

Dean nodded vigorously, and the lines around her eyes eased a bit.

"Good," she whispered and then walked out of the room quickly, leaving Dean staring after her with a fistful of powder trickling from his fingers. He looked down in surprise, hardly remembering he'd taken the handful, then turning and flinging it into the fireplace, hopping in as he proclaimed, "Diagon Alley."

* * *

Dean wandered slowly down the street, looking around at the shops that were in various stages of rebuilding. He felt as though he were in a dream-like state as he purchased his supplies, and he was supremely grateful that he didn't run into anyone who felt compelled to stop him to have any sort of meaningful conversation. He wasn't up to having meaningful conversations at the moment. He wished he could just be finished with them altogether even though he knew such a wish was futile. He hadn't gone back to Hogwarts yet. The worst of these conversations were yet to begin.

But ten days later, when he found himself on platform 9 ¾, he knew the time was rapidly approaching because the first faces he saw when he pulled his trunk onto the train were Ginny, Luna and Hannah. Ginny's eyes lit up (as much as her eyes did these days), and he knew she was about to invite him into their compartment.

Without reason, without logic, without any sort of plan, he turned, pretending he didn't see her, and shoved his trunk into the first compartment he came to, ignoring the gaggle of first years who stared at him in shock. Ignoring them, he turned and rushed back off the train, knowing that he had to say goodbye to Seamus before he bolted once again.

He only just made it. Shay was shifting from foot to foot, his forehead glistening, his eyes darting frantically. Dean carefully touched his elbow, and Shay froze and then relaxed when he saw his friend standing beside him.

"You stowed your things?" he asked, trying as hard as he could to make his voice sound normal, but Dean could hear the undercurrent of a tremor, and he tightened his grip on Shay's elbow.

"I did," he said, and then he pulled Seamus around to face him. "I'm going to send you owls every week, you know. You might not be there in body, but I'll see to it that I keep you there with me in spirit. You'll write back, right?"

Seamus smiled slightly. "Of course I will. I still don't have a job. What else will I be doing?" he muttered, and Dean had to bite his tongue to ask why on earth Seamus was still so adamant about _not _returning to Hogwarts when his alternatives seemed so non-existent. But one look into his friend's eyes told him not to ask, and he pulled him into a rough hug instead, thumping Seamus on the back and muttering, "I'm going to miss you, mate."

Seamus hugged him back tightly, and he was shocked and horrified to find his voice too choked to respond, so he cleared his throat, hoping Dean would accept that as agreement. But Dean barely even looked at him once they let go, and he turned and leapt back onto the train, hoping Shay wouldn't see how quickly he, himself, was blinking.

He stumbled to his compartment and, once again ignoring the first years who were nervously exchanging their information with each other, leaned back and deliberately closed his eyes. This would be the first time he didn't watch the platform fade away behind them. He couldn't. Seeing Seamus disappear in the distance would hurt too much.

He'd actually been asleep for a chunk of time when his foot started to jiggle back and forth. He grunted and tried to twitch it awake, but it kept shaking. Finally, he opened his eyes – and then had to force himself not to scowl. It was Ginny, and from the looks of it, she wasn't planning on letting him sleep any longer.

"What is it?" he nearly growled ungraciously, but when her eyebrow lifted in surprise, he had the decency to feel slightly ashamed. He pushed himself up in his seat and muttered, "Sorry, Gin. It's just… it's already been a long day."

"Seamus?" she asked shrewdly, and he sighed and nodded slightly. It didn't surprise him that she'd cottoned on so fast, and it wouldn't do to pretend she hadn't. She knew him too well for that anyway.

"Nothing I said could convince him to come back," he said softly. He glanced toward the first years then, and one of them glanced at them at the same time, gulped when he saw the look on Dean's face, and then within moments, he and Ginny had the compartment to themselves.

Her lips twitched. "It's not so bad to get older sometimes, huh?" she asked in amusement, but Dean wasn't ready for levity, and he just sighed, leaning his head back against the seat.

"He had a bad year last year," Ginny said succinctly, and Dean nodded slightly but didn't open his eyes.

"I figured as much," he finally mumbled, "based on the hints he's dropped. But that's all they've been… hints. I can never get anything concrete from him, and now he's home, and I'm going back, and we're not going to see each other for months. And I don't know how I'm supposed to be at Hogwarts without him or Harry or Ron or Neville…" and he trailed off again, his throat closing. He was suddenly grateful that he wasn't looking at Ginny.

She put her hand on his leg again, but this time she didn't shake it or try to get his attention. Her grip was firm but understanding, and after a minute had passed, Dean let out a deep breath and opened his eyes. He tried to smile at Ginny, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"It'll be all right, won't it?" he asked, and she ignored the roughness in his voice as she nodded.

"It will be," she said quietly. "It'll be different, but it'll be all right."

Dean looked at her for a moment.

"That's exactly it," he murmured, and this time, his smile was slightly more sincere. "Different… It'll take some getting used to."

Ginny nodded. "I wonder if they had time to finish rebuilding over the summer holiday," she mused. "There was considerable damage …"

Dean's eyes widened. "I hadn't thought of that," he said slowly. An image of the Great Hall as he'd last seen it floated through his head, and he shook himself, trying to forget it. "How was the end of your summer?" he asked abruptly, changing the subject, and Ginny hitched one shoulder in reply.

"It was fine. Harry's been doing better. He's talking again, and he's working now. I think he might even be sleeping most nights, too."

Dean nodded his approval. "That's good," he said, relief evident in his voice. "At least somebody's doing better…"

Ginny studied him for a moment and then said hesitantly, "Has… has Shay ever told you about some of the punishments the Carrows administered?"

Dean's brow furrowed, and he shook his head slowly. "He clams up whenever anyone says the _word_ Hogwarts. I told him more about my year than he's said about one day of his…"

Ginny looked as if she were struggling with a decision, but then she sighed.

"You should make sure you write to him," she concluded lamely. "Maybe – maybe it'll be easier for him to open up in writing."

But Dean shifted uncomfortably in his seat even as he nodded reluctantly.

"It probably would be," he said, his voice so low that Ginny had to lean forward to hear him, "but I don't … it sounds awful, Gin, but part of me doesn't _want _to know."

She sighed. She couldn't blame him based on what she'd been able to piece together.

"I don't blame you," she admitted, but then she looked directly at him, "but he's too important for that to matter, right?"

Dean sighed. "Right," he said, knowing that he would be writing to Shay the moment he'd gotten himself settled in the dormitory that night. Ginny _was_ right. It wasn't his comfort that mattered now… it was Seamus's obvious discomfort.

* * *

But Shay's discomfort was the furthest thing from Dean's mind when he walked in to the Great Hall for the Sorting that night because for the first time, he didn't see the tables set with the House colors (although they were) or the plates of food piled high on the tables (although they were, too). No, what he saw, in his mind's eye, were the bodies of the fallen lining the room, families crowded around them as they'd been when he'd last been here. He shook himself, and the image faded, but what replaced it didn't give him much comfort either as he slowly made his way to the Gryffindor table.

Ginny waved to him, and he saw that even as she tried to smile, her eyes were tired, and he knew he wasn't the only one noticing just how different it was this time. For the thousandth time, he wondered why he'd come back. This wasn't his Hogwarts anymore; how could he be expected to learn anything in this foreign place?

But he didn't voice any of these questions as he allowed himself to fall into the seat beside his friend. He tried for a smile, and Ginny's lips stretched in her best imitation of one as well. Neither of them spoke, simply watched the rest of the Hall as everyone settled themselves, but it was when McGonagall strode up to the lectern that Dean found himself suddenly dizzy. Dumbledore wasn't there. Of course he'd known for the past year that Dumbledore was dead, that he'd never be at Hogwarts again – but this was the first time he'd had to see that in action, and he found himself struggling to breathe evenly, focusing all of his attention on McGonagall's words.

"Ladies and gentlemen," their new headmistress was saying, "welcome. It is time for a new year, a new beginning. This has been a summer of new beginnings, and now your work begins again. You are here to prepare yourselves for a future that is far less uncertain than the one toward which you had previously been headed, and you must not squander this opportunity to take the knowledge you receive here and use it to make a difference in this world. If the events of last May teach us anything, it is that we can all make a difference. To borrow words from a very eloquent muggle, Mahatma Ghandi, we can all be the change we wish to see in this world. Now, it is the time to renew old acquaintances. I will leave you to your food."

She returned to her seat at the teachers' table, and Dean and Ginny looked at each other. Finally, she shrugged.

"Well, she's right," she muttered. "Obviously, we can change things. Look around… we already have."

Dean couldn't bring himself to do that – to look around – but he nodded. On a purely logical level, he knew she was right. But on another level – one that he distinctly did not want to discuss – he wondered how long it would take to really believe it.


	11. I'm Not Saying a Word

_A/N: Ok, so it took a while. Again. If anyone is still reading, I'm sorry. I won't abandon this, no matter how long it seems to take for an update._

It wasn't the same. Sure, he'd made it to November; sure, he was adjusting to his classes and to spending most of his free time with Ginny and Hermione; sure, things had even settled into a new normal. Still. Dean found himself looking around every so often to see Seamus's reaction to what was a professor was saying or to what one of the Quidditch teams had just done. Then it was always that same hollow feeling when he didn't find him there. He wondered if it would ever feel normal without him.

He did try to remember that he only had a few more months to go before he wouldn't have to think about it anymore. It almost worked, even ... until he remembered what was happening back at the Finnigans' house. The problem was that he didn't really know. He'd owled Shay a few times a week since he'd been back at Hogwarts, and he'd gotten responses to all of his letters, but they were brief and to the point. And the point was clear. Seamus either didn't have much to say, or he didn't want to say it to Dean. Whatever the reason, Dean was going crazy wondering what, exactly, was wrong with his friend. Whenever he broached the topic with Ginny, though, she got the same pained look in her eyes, and she changed the subject. He'd finally given up on trying to get any information out of her, but he knew he'd need to find out sooner rather than later. Seamus needed help. That much he did know.

Dean wasn't the only one who recognized how much help Shay needed. Seamus knew it, too. The day Dean had left for Hogwarts was one of the worst days Seamus had had in a long time. When he left Platform 9 3/4, he'd rushed home and refused to speak to his parents even though he was aware of the concern on their faces. He'd apparated into the front yard, and they'd come out to the living room when the door opened. Seamus could see from the looks on their faces just how awful he must have looked. But he knew that if he'd tried to speak, the lump in his throat would dissolve, and he might have ended up telling them all sorts of things he was never going to tell anyone. So he'd just rushed past them to his room, slamming the door and refusing to speak to either of them until he'd managed to calm down.

He didn't even understand why he'd needed to calm down, though. He wasn't sorry not to be going back to Hogwarts. Not at all. He couldn't even _think _of Hogwarts without feeling ill. But the thought of deliberately separating from his best friend when last year's forced separation had been such a wrenching thing ... No. It was horrible, and it was unnatural and it was ... well ... it was all of the words he'd have used to describe last year if he ever were to talk about it (which he wasn't.) So he decided to distract himself.

The months passed quickly - more quickly for him, he knew, than for Dean. He knew that from the letters he was getting with unsurprising regularity every couple of days. He wasn't sure how to answer them, though. Seamus's days were filled with arguing with his parents over what he should be doing and whether he should be trying to get a job and where he was going when he disappeared for hours at a time. But he wasn't about to tell Dean about that either.

He'd been wandering around one day, wondering if maybe _should _get a job, when he'd seen a pub that he just kind of stumbled into. When he stepped inside, though, he realized this wasn't just a regular group of men sitting around of an afternoon, trying to drown their troubles. There was some sort of meeting going on, and it was too late for him to back out the door once they'd noticed him and motioned with grim faces for him to take a seat. So he had. And it hadn't taken long for him to realize that this was the IRA - that political group his father would sometimes growl about at meals whenever his mother wasn't quick enough to change the subject.

Seamus knew he shouldn't stay. He knew that if his parents got an inkling that he'd even _spoken _to one of these men, he'd be in an argument, the likes of which he hadn't seen in years. But he couldn't seem to bring himself to tune out what they were saying because - well - it made sense. All the talk of revenge and justice and _rights _- it was what he'd been dreaming of for the past 15 months - since he'd gone back for _his _last year at Hogwarts. And even though these men didn't know about magic (as far as Seamus could tell) - they did know about what it was like to suffer. They knew about being forced to live in a world that didn't take them into account at all. And for the first time, Seamus felt like he finally fit in somewhere again.

His parents weren't as oblivious as he wanted them to be, though. After the third consecutive Monday that he'd disappeared and then returned at the same time, Mrs. Finnigan finally admitted that there was a pattern to these disappearances. When she mentioned this to her husband, he'd raised his eyebrows but agreed to trail Seamus the following week. He did not like what he saw.

Seamus walked back into his house after that meeting, the blood roaring in his ears. He'd learned so much that he hadn't known, and he knew that whether he was prepared or not, he was in this for better or for worse. He hardly noticed his father sitting on the couch with an extremely grim look on his face. He'd almost walked right by him when his father's unusually serious voice arrested him in his tracks.

"Seamus, we need to talk. Have a seat."

Seamus turned slowly, his steps slowing even as his heart rate quickened. One look at his father's face told him that he knew more than Seamus would have liked, and he didn't know whether or not to be honest or to be angry that somehow, his parents had discovered what he was up to. He settled on anger.

He folded his arms across his chest and looked at his father defiantly.

"What is it," he asked, ignoring the directive to sit. But his father looked pointedly at him and wouldn't say another word. Finally, Seamus sighed impatiently and sat on the edge of the chair facing the couch. He didn't speak again. After a few minutes, Mr. Finnigan said tightly, "I saw where you went today. I was - I was walking by, and I recognized that pub. Seamus..."

But his son wouldn't let him say another word.

"You were just _walking by_," he asked mockingly, his words expressing his disbelief that his father thought he would believe this. But Mr. Finnigan didn't react to his tone - though a very small part of Seamus's brain knew he had every right to be angry with the blatant disrespect Shay was suddenly exhibiting. Seamus took courage in his father's silence and went on, the righteous indignation once again taking control of his words. "You expect me to believe that? You were following me, Dad. At least be honest with me. Don't I deserve honesty?"

Mr. Finnigan took the bait much as he wished he could hold himself back.

"Don't _you _deserve honesty? You've been sneaking around behind your mother and my back, going precisely where you know I want you to avoid, and _you _deserve honesty?"

Seamus felt his face heating up, but he couldn't seem to stop himself from rising to his feet, his hands balled in fists.

"At least they have the right idea," he shouted, hardly aware of what he was saying. "At least they fight. At least they don't let other people control them and tell them what to do and grab..." he choked on his words then, suddenly aware of the fact that he'd been about to say too much. Whirling around, he raced up the stairs and into his room, slamming the door behind him and muttering a spell to lock and seal it tightly. He didn't really expect his father to follow him, but he wasn't taking any chances. He was shaking as he sank onto his bed, and he suddenly realized that if there were ever a good time to write to Dean, this would be it. Summoning paper and a quill, he bunched his pillows behind him and began to write.

_Dear Dean,_

_I swear, sometimes I think my parents have lost what little is left of their minds. I've been sitting here for months, and all they do is nag at me to go find a job or do something productive. I finally start going out, and then they complain. And my father's the worst. He and I just got into a shouting match because now that I'm going out, he doesn't like where I'm going? You're so lucky that you don't have to deal with this. And even when you go home, your parents don't bother you this much because they can focus on your sisters. Looking forward to seeing you soon, mate. Are you coming here for Christmas or going to your parents? Have you been home yet? You haven't said. Hope you come here for at least a little while._

_Shay_

Dean sat in the Gryffindor common room, staring into the fire, the letter in his hands. He was unaware that the paper was trembling, unaware that his hands were shaking noticeably enough to get Hermione's attention, to get her to glance meaningfully at Ginny and gesture in his direction. All he could think was that he should be glad that Seamus wrote him, glad that he'd shared something more than the weather report or the latest football scores. But he wasn't.

The words kept replaying in his mind. _You're so lucky that you don't have to deal with this. _Dean's lips twisted in a bitter grimace. Lucky? He didn't feel lucky - not at all. He felt cheated. He felt confused. And - well - as much as he hated to admit this because of how ridiculous it even felt to _think _it - he felt jealous. It was the second time he could remember feeling jealous of his best mate, and he hated it. And both times had to do with the same thing. Dean could still feel the pit in his stomach as he'd watch the Finnigan Family Reunion, as he'd come to think of that moment when Seamus and he had found them at last, but he knew that wasn't fair. And this wasn't fair either. It was also silly. How could he be jealous of a fight that Seamus had with his father.

Before he could let his thoughts travel any further down that twisted path, he became aware of a presence beside him on the couch. He looked up with a start but wasn't surprised to find Ginny sitting there, Hermione a few feet away on the chair. They were both looking at him with concern, but he tried to force a smile.

"I'm all right," he tried to say lightly, but his voice belied his words. Neither girl spoke, and Dean held the letter aloft, saying, "Shay and his dad got into an argument. He - he wrote. I just feel bad about it is all."

Nothing could have been clearer to Hermione or Ginny that there was so much that Dean wasn't saying.

Hermione suddenly yawned - very theatrically, Ginny thought, trying not to roll her eyes. "I think I'm going to go up to bed," she said quietly. She gave Dean a studied look as she stood, but then she smiled. "I'll see you when you come up, Gin." And without waiting for a response from either of the other two, she ascended the stairs.

Once they were alone, there was silence for a long while. Ginny knew there was a lot Dean was trying not to say, but she also knew that if she sat there long enough and waited, he would say it. Like it or not, she knew that he really had no one else to confide in now that he was at Hogwarts without Seamus and even without Ron or Harry or Neville. As much as he might have wished he could keep everything to himself, she knew him better than that. So she waited.

"It's just - he wants to know if I'm going home for Christmas. And - and I don't know. And he got into a fight with his father, and ..." Here he trailed off. He still hadn't looked up, but now he did, and Ginny was watching him, her brow wrinkled in confusion.

"Why - why wouldn't you go home?" she asked, and Dean looked back down. Of course she would pick up on the one part he wasn't even sure he wanted to discuss. He stared at the letter for a moment before sighing. He looked back up at a spot over Ginny's left shoulder, and his voice was surprisingly steady as he began to recount the events of the night he'd left home.

"So he's not even my father," he concluded, "and Katherine and Charlotte aren't... they aren't really..." but suddenly his voice wasn't quite as steady, and he sighed again, leaving the sentence unfinished. But when he finally managed to bring himself to look Ginny in the eye, he was surprised to see the determination in hers.

"He's not your father?" she asked, her voice quiet but firm.

Dean started to shake his head, but Ginny reached out and took his hand, and he stopped and looked at her.

"He _is_," she said insistently. "In all the ways that count, Dean, he is. He loves you. You know that. And if you hadn't found that photo, then you'd never have questioned any of this. That has to tell you something, doesn't it?"

Dean stared at her. "It should," he said slowly. "And I know that's true. But... Ginny. My mother lied to me. She's been lying to me for _years_. How - how am I supposed to trust her again? How am I supposed to go home and see her and see him and know that he's not - he isn't." His voice cracked, and he looked away, but Ginny squeezed his hand.

"You just do," she said simply. She looked into the fire as Dean's grip on her hand tightened, and she didn't look back until she heard him clear his throat. His eyes were glistening, but he forced a smile.

"Thanks, Gin," he said hoarsely, and she nodded, standing and smoothing her hands over her jeans. After a moment, she looked at Dean, but he was staring into the fire again.

"I know you're also worried about Seamus," she said slowly, "and I don't blame you. But... let his parents worry about him for a little while. Maybe - maybe it's time for you to figure some of your own stuff out right now?"

Without waiting for a response, she turned and climbed the spiral staircase, leaving Dean staring after her. And then he looked back at the letter from Seamus. Maybe Ginny was right. Maybe he did need to help himself before he could help Seamus... but part of him couldn't help but worry. Where was Shay going that had his parents so angry? Somehow, he knew that this wasn't as minor as Seamus wanted him to believe.


	12. Been a Long Day

_A/N: I feel like I'm always apologizing for delays, but as I promised, I will never abandon this fic. My creative juices have started flowing again. I hope I can keep them going._

Seamus wasn't happy. His mother was studiously not looking over at him, knowing that he was just waiting for her to make eye contact so he could start an argument. She was just not in the mood for another argument, not this early in the morning, so she continued to busy herself with toast and eggs.

He sighed loudly and rustled the Daily Prophet, but she calmly spooned the eggs onto the three plates she had lined up alongside the stove, keeping her movements measured and slow. Once she was finished preparing breakfast, she carried the plates to the table, giving her husband a forced smile and glancing only briefly at her son before settling into her own seat.

For a few moments, nobody spoke, and both his mother and father had a mouthful of food when Seamus finally burst out with, "I do NOT want to talk to this shrink."

With a heavy sigh, Mrs. Finnigan lowered her fork to her plate and looked over the newspaper Shay was still holding in his clenched fist.

"We discussed this already," she said gently. "You agreed to it. It's not negotiable."

Mr. Finnigan nodded, only increasing his son's agitation.

"We told you, Shay. Give it a try. Talk to him today. And if you really hate him that much, we'll try to find someone else. But you - you need to talk to someone." At Seamus's angry snort, his hand tightened on his fork but he forced his voice to stay calm as he muttered, "whether you want to or not."

Seamus let out an explosive breath but a quick look at both of his parents told him pretty much everything he needed to know about continuing this argument - that it wasn't worth it. He shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth savagely even as he thought, _Fine. I'll go. But I'm not telling him __**anything**__._

An hour later, the Finnigans were knocking on the ivy covered door about a mile from their house. None of them looked at each other, and when it opened, they walked in without a word. The receptionist smiled at them brightly.

"And you are?" she asked. When it quickly became clear that Seamus wasn't about to offer any information, his mother stepped forward and said, "Seamus Finnigan to see Dr. Andrews." She shot him a look that he missed as he was staring mutinously at his feet. He. wasn't. saying. a. word.

"Just a moment," the young woman said brightly. She typed something and then stood up and motioned to Seamus saying, "if you'll just follow me."

He didn't look at his parents. He barely looked at the woman he followed from the room. And moments later, when they were alone in the waiting room, Mrs. Finnigan looked at her husband as she slumped miserably into her chair.

"What if this really doesn't help?" she asked, and he shook his head.

"Something's got to," he said grimly. "And if it isn't Dr. Andrews, then we'll find someone who will."

She nodded. She wished she could be as convinced. She wished her husband were as convinced as he wanted to sound. All she knew for sure was that she was more worried about her son than she ever had been in her life, and at this point, that was saying a lot.

Dr. Andrews knew with one glance that this was not going to be easy. Once the receptionist led Seamus into the room and left, closing the door quietly behind her, Shay ha merely stood there, staring at the floor, not moving another inch.

After a moment of silence, the doctor clearly his throat and said quietly, "There's a seat over there if you'd find that comfortable. Whenever you're ready." And he turned and pretended to flip through a pile of papers. It didn't take long for Seamus to glance at him, glance at the chair, and decide that this was a safe suggestion.

Once he was seated, Dr. Andrews turned around again. His lips twitched, but he didn't fully smile, and he said, "Seamus, I'm Dr. Andrews. I'm sure this is new for you because I think your mum said you'd never been to a psychiatrist before. Let me tell you right now that anything you say to me here is completely confidential. I will not tell your parents, your teachers or your friends. The only time I will have to tell someone what you say is if you tell me that you're planning on hurting yourself or somebody else. Otherwise? It's fair game. You can shout, curse, anything. It doesn't leave this room. Understand?"

Almost against his will, Seamus nodded. And then he was angry at himself. He hadn't ever planned on acknowledging this guy's existence, but suddenly, he realized something - he was all right. And if he meant what he said - that anything Seamus said in here was confidential - well, maybe there was something to this. His lips parted and he mumbled, "That's ok with me."

Dr. Andrews smiled. "I'm glad to hear that." He studied Seamus then, noted the bags under his eyes, and his smile faded. "So... how have you been sleeping?"

Seamus felt himself starting to relax slightly, and he shook his head. "Not so well. It's just - last year at school was rough, and... " Here he trailed off. He suddenly realized that he knew nothing about this guy. He'd refused to talk about any of this with his parents, so he didn't even know what type of shrink they'd chosen. But Dr. Andrews merely nodded and said, "Hogwarts. Yes. That was ... quite a year there, to put it mildly. Go on."

For a moment, Seamus felt as if the air had been sucked from the room. Hearing this stranger mention Hogwarts - with even some understanding of what the last year had been - was enough to make him dizzy. He shook his head to clear it and said faintly, "Yes... it _was_ quite a year. And I haven't slept well since, to be honest."

Dr. Andrews nodded again. "I understand," he said softly. For the first time since Seamus had entered the room, he looked directly at him, and Shay found himself staring back before he finally had to break the eye contact and stare at his feet. His eyes were burning, and he wasn't sure why, but he knew he was done talking. This was already too much.

The doctor seemed to know it, too. After letting Seamus sit silently for a minute, he cleared his throat and said, "I think this was enough for a first visit. If you want to come back again next week, I'll let you set up the appointment with Ms. Simmons. Is that all right with you?"

Shay nodded. He wasn't sure why, but he knew he'd be back in another week. He also knew that he wasn't about to tell anyone else why. He wouldn't explain it to his parents, and he wouldn't write about it to Dean. He would just go. There wasn't anything wrong with it. Dr. Andrews was just another person to talk to. Nothing wrong with that at all.

Dean wondered when he would stop anxiously awaiting owls. It wasn't like they were delivering letters with any sort of interesting news. Seamus was back to writing about weather, and no one else was writing to him at all.

And then the owl swooped into the Great Hall and deposited the letter on his lap before soaring away. Dean stared at it for a moment before stuffing it into his pocket. Ginny and Hermione were too busy talking to each other to notice and after a long look at both of them to make sure they wouldn't follow, Dean managed to slip from the table and hurry out of the hall.

He made it back to the Gryffindor common room in record time and ripped open the letter quickly, hoping to read it before anyone else returned from breakfast, but he felt his heart sink when he saw that it only contained a few lines.

_Dean, Your sisters have been asking about you and want to know if you'll be home for Christmas. I don't know what to tell them. Let me know as soon as you've made a decision. - Mum_

She hadn't signed it love. She didn't say she wanted to know. It was brief, to the point - and it hurt. And Dean was still sitting, staring at it, when Hermione climbed through the portrait hole.

She stopped short when she saw him and wished, suddenly and devoutly, for Ginny. But Ginny had Transfigurations, and Hermione was here because she had reading to do. And here was Dean, clearly upset, and she didn't know what to say. But that was ridiculous, she scolded herself. This was _Dean_. She took a deep breath and forced herself to the couch, sitting down gingerly beside him.

He looked up with a start and tried to force a smile.

"Oh, hey Hermione. Didn't see you come back in. Ginny in class?"

Hermione nodded, and her eyes flicked to the letter.

"You got something today?" she asked, trying to keep the tone light. It couldn't have been more obvious that they both knew what she wasn't saying: _what's wrong._ Because as much as he wished he could hide it, Dean knew that not only was he very bad at it, but Hermione was brilliant. She couldn't possibly miss the tension he knew he was radiating.

He shrugged and nodded. "Yeah. From my mum. She - she said my sisters want to know if I'm coming home for Christmas. And Shay actually asked me that in _his _last letter. I just - I don't know what to tell them. I'm not sure what I should do."

There was so much he wasn't going to say, and Hermione knew that instantly. But she spoke to the anguish in his voice that he'd been trying unsuccessfully to mask.

"Well, if your sisters want to see you - why _wouldn't _you go home? You must miss them, right?"

_You must miss them_... Her innocent words couldn't have pierced him more sharply, and Dean nodded again, blinking furiously as he stared at the paper. That was the thing. He did miss them - he missed them dreadfully. He just didn't know how to face them, but - well, if he were already planning on lecturing Shay when he saw him on the importance of not running away from his problems, then maybe he ought to do the same.

He realized, suddenly, that Hermione was still sitting there. "I do," he said gruffly. "I - you're right. There's no reason not to go home."

_No reason at all_, he thought bitterly - except for the conversation he didn't want to have. But here went nothing.


End file.
